Ready to Die

I want to die. And looking at the girl in the mirror in front of me, her pale skin cracked as it reflects against the broken glass, her light brown hair tangled in many knots all over her head, I know I have to. I press my cold hands against the skin on my cheeks, the touches light and fragile. A hard gust of wind crashes against the trees outside, making the branches tap against my window, my body jumping slightly. I’ve been in this old house for ages, the same weather always happening in this gloomy neighborhood, so you’d think I’d be used to it by now. But the way the wood clicks against the glass like a slender old finger, watching me, waiting for me, still chills me to my bones.

More often than not, I wonder what I’ve become. I look at the faded old picture, the corner of it stuck between the frame of the glass and the mirror. I would pull it out to look at it more closely, but it seems so old and wiped out by time that I feel it would crumble in my hands. The photo depicts a little girl, smiling brightly at the camera. I smirk a little, my dry lips turning up at the corners the smallest bit. The flower the girl was holding was the brightest thing in the picture, once upon a time; a bright, neon-ish yellow. But that, too, has faded now, taken away by Father Time and little care. My eyes flicker back to the woman in the glass, staring back at me with cold, dark eyes. They look like voids to nowhere, black and emotionless. But that’s understandable now, me being all alone in this rickety, ancient house with no-one to keep me company but the spiders in the corners of the walls and the crickets chirping in the dead silence of most nights. Sometimes, though, I just want someone I can talk to. Someone I’d be able to share my thoughts with. Anybody to keep me company, really. That’s all I want.

But, of course, as I’ve always known, there will be nobody to talk to, to share my thoughts with, or somebody to keep me company. Just the spiders and the crickets. Why do I feel this way? What have I honestly done to deserve this? Was it because I pushed away the ones I love, or because I like my solitude? Is this the world’s way of punishing me? I haven’t done anything wrong!

I once had a cat named Teacup. It was my favourite animal, the only being I could really tolerate. She was pitch black, with bright yellow eyes. They were as bright as the sun; or so I remembered... I hadn’t seen the sun in ages. I preferred the dark; there was nothing intimidating about it, despite the myths about the black painted air. It was calm. It was quiet. It wasn’t happy, which I liked. I rarely went outside, let alone looked out. I hated seeing people smiling, or laughing, or having a good time, because I knew that couldn’t be me. It was like wanting something so badly that you could die for it... But it always being just out of reach. Just a few millimetres from your fingertips, your skin occasionally just barely grazing it so lightly you had to wonder if it had or not. But you’d still never be able to fully touch or hold it. So, as a result, I just drew my curtains closed and sat in the darkness of my home, just where I liked it. But back to Teacup.

She was a good cat. She always sat in my lap, or on the arm of the large, fluffy chair I always sat in. She always purred when I entered a room (not that she ever left my side). She was the only thing in this world that kept me going after I realized I didn’t like people, after I realized living wasn’t the thing for me. She was the only thing that made me smile.

But, as all things do eventually, she died not too long ago, but I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault, and I knew if she could she would have stayed by my side as she always had. And then, as I knew full well it would, everything has and I know will continue gone down from there. Sometimes, I think I hear her vague purr beside my head when I sleep, as she always slept on my pillow. Or sometimes I feel I can hear her meow, begging for food at supper, at exactly 5:15, no later. But I know it’s only just wisps of nothing, fading into the night. After losing my only friend, I once again lost the will to live. I once again felt that deep sadness gnawing at my insides, curling around me, sucking me in... which is what brought me here. In front of my broken mirror, the only light in the room made by the soft glow of the moon fluttering in through the crack in the curtains, with a handful of my depression and sleep meds, along with a billion other kinds that just sat in my bathroom untouched strewn across the desk of the vanity, and a glass of water accompanying it.

After all these harsh, 40 some-odd years (I couldn’t be bothered to count anymore as it wasn’t like my birthday mattered; there was nobody to ever celebrate it with anyway), I was done. I knew it. I was sick and tired of the constant feel of loneliness, tired, grogginess that consumed my miserable life. I was ready to end my existence, to fall into a peaceful dream and never awake. I was over with being just a sick, old, crazy woman.

I was ready to die. Reaching into the drawer of my vanity, I sat down on the matching stool and grabbed the notepad and black pen that was inside the compartment. Though I knew nobody would ever find this anyway, it felt wrong to not leave a small goodbye. In my messy handwriting, I jotted down on the page a small message, of only six small words: I’m sorry. God, please forgive me.

Ripping off the paper, I placed the pen and pad with one less sheet than when I took it out back in the drawer, closing it gently. I then smoothed the paper onto the glass as I tucked the corner of it onto it in the same fashion as the photo and picked up the many pills. There were too many to count.

Cupping them in my palm, I raised them to my mouth and tipped my head back to place them all on the back of my tongue as I rolled them out of my hand. Removing it, I reached down to grab the clear cup of liquid, raising that to my mouth too to drain it as quickly as I could. When done, I let out a small sigh, slowly folding my arms onto the vanity desk to lay my head atop it, waiting for the glorious, painless feeling of a deep, deep sleep to come upon me. Suddenly, as expected, the dark world in front of me spun and distorted into weird shapes, my head becoming light as I fluttered my eyes closed. I saw dots in my vision, my throat closing up as I relaxed against the dresser, letting the darkness take me. And as it did, my mind finally numbing and the emotional pain draining away, I smiled the first true smile I’ve let cross my face since my dear kitten left me.

I was happy now, for it was finally time to die.