Living Again

Ending it

The wind, a mischievous entity, whipped her hair into a frenzy, obscuring her vision like a silken curtain. She raised a hand to her face, gently tucking a stray strand behind her ear, revealing a glimpse of her features. Her gaze fell upon the cityscape below, its myriad lights shimmering like scattered jewels. A long drop down, she mused, a whisper of apprehension in her thoughts.

"How did it all end up like this?" The question echoed in her mind, a bitter refrain.

Was it the day her mother's laughter faded into silence? The moment her father's absence became a gaping wound, leaving her to bear the burden of his debts? The betrayal of a lover, the sting of his infidelity, the echo of his footsteps walking away? Or was it the cruel twist of fate that forced her to endure the callous violence of others, to trade her dignity for survival?

The memories came in fragmented flashes, each one a sharp, jagged edge against the raw canvas of her soul. A kaleidoscope of pain, each piece a different shade of hurt, each angle a new perspective on her shattered reality. So many she couldn't even recall, lost in the fog of grief and despair.

"Plip, plop, plip, plop," a rhythmic symphony of falling rain began, each drop a tiny percussionist on the stage of her world. The rain fell, an insistent deluge that drenched her, turning her auburn hair a darker, almost sullen shade.

Ironic, she thought, a wry smile twisting her lips, It's raining as I'm about to end it all. So cliche, like something out of a cheap movie. But even in her darkest hour, a sliver of cynicism, a flicker of humor, refused to be extinguished.

A hollow chuckle escaped her lips, a sound that was more a sigh than a laugh. "How come the sun never shines for me?" she whispered, the words laced with a bitterness that tasted like ash. She was just a waste of oxygen, a drain on this godforsaken world. A waste of space, as they all said. Shouldn't the sky be ablaze with light right now? It had been earlier today. Didn't everyone say the world was a beautiful place? Everyone except her mother, the one who had always seen the good in her, even when she couldn't see it herself.

If God, if there was a God, was watching, would he see her now, in her final moments? Would he let her see her mother again? A silent prayer took shape in her heart, a desperate hope. Her mother, the kindest soul on earth, wouldn't be proud of this. But she could apologize.

Why were good people always plucked from the world first, leaving the nasty, the cruel, the heartless behind? Her mother didn't deserve to die, not like that. Not with such a senseless, brutal end. Instead of her, it should have been those bastards who had violated her, who had stolen her innocence, who had left her broken. Those were the ones who should have been swept away, the ones who didn't deserve the gift of life.

Tears streamed down her face, a silent cascade of grief that barely registered against the numbness that had settled deep within her. The world felt muted, the colors drained from it, a pale reflection of the vibrant tapestry it had once been. All that remained was a hollow ache, a gaping void where her mother's love had resided.

Oh, how she missed her mother. Her smile, a beacon of warmth that could illuminate the darkest of days. Her laughter, a symphony of joy that could banish any cloud of sorrow. Her stories, tales spun with such love and passion that they painted vivid landscapes in her imagination. And her cooking! God, how she missed eating her mother's food. The simple pleasures, the comforting aromas, the way her mother made even the most humble ingredients sing. Now, all she had were scraps of bread, stale and tasteless, and the occasional rotten fruit scavenged from the dumpster.

No one was willing to employ her. They all wanted interviews, experience, credentials - things she simply didn't have. The world seemed to demand so much from her, yet offered so little in return.

She missed those days, those cramped, poverty-stricken days in their tiny apartment. Her so-called father was rarely home, always out chasing his gambling demons, draining their meager resources. Her mother, a tireless warrior, worked three, sometimes five jobs, just to put food on the table, just to ensure her daughter could eat.

Her past, a tapestry woven from hardship and neglect, had been a brutal reality. But even amidst that bleakness, she had cherished it, because her mother had been there. She had loved those days, even the hardest ones, because her mother's love had been her anchor, her solace, her reason for believing in the world.

Now, in this stark present, she hated living. The world felt cold and unforgiving, and she couldn't understand why she was still here. Why she hadn't joined her mother in that blissful, silent realm where pain and sorrow could no longer touch them. The truth was, she hated living because her mother was gone.

"Mother..." The word escaped her lips, a whisper of longing, a breath of relief. Finally. At last, she could see her mother again. The thought brought a wave of bittersweet comfort, a promise of reunion after a lifetime of separation. They would be together, finally at peace, away from this cruel, unforgiving world and its inhabitants. A silent vow filled her heart: to leave behind the pain, the betrayal, the endless struggle, and to find solace in her mother's embrace.

Finally. After fourteen long, agonizing years, she would see her mother again. The thought, a beacon in the darkness, ignited a flicker of joy within her, a smile playing on her lips like a fleeting ray of sunshine.

She closed her eyes, taking a step forward, bracing herself for the rush of wind that would accompany her descent.

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But... the wind never came. Instead, she felt something else, a pressure, a gentle grip on her wrist. What...?

Her eyes flew open, a jolt of surprise coursing through her.She turned her head around. There, standing behind her, was a man. He was tall, clad in a black suit that was now clinging to him like a second skin, soaked through with the rain. His hair, dark and unruly, was plastered to his forehead, glistening with water droplets.

W-who is this person!?

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End of chapter one