Efflorescence (Zelink)

Surface

Quiet and calm chuckling is noticeable in the background, and I bet about four people are around the phone on the other side.
"Did she take it?", one female voice asks, and another one giggles. "Oh my god, she took it!" She stopped giggling, and said that.
"Hello, Zelda. Havin' a great time?" I recognize the voice of the one, who slapped me. A drop of sweat runs down my forehead.
"Poor little slut doesn't answer", a girl spits obnoxiously. I should really hang up. Really. Really. I stare at the red button on my phone. Why can't I do it? What is holding me back? Curiosity?

"Well, we just wanted to tell you some facts", the boy adds, and some others laugh. The sweat is getting colder, my chest is tightening up. Anxiety waits for its attack.
"Your viral video has ten thousand views. Lovely news, aren't they?" My head starts to hurt, but surprisingly, I don't cry. I don't blame them, I don't blame anyone, it's all my fault, it's all my fault for being who I am.
But shouldn't you not apologize for who you are?
I can't change my ugliness, my uselessness, oh Hylia, save me from this place, give me the power to press this damn button, give me the ability to leave this world, give me the ability to die. To die, to die. To not feel anything.

"I am so going to kill you Zelda once you've returned", a girl hisses, and I don't even clench my fists, they are so weak, I pull my legs to my body and remain silent, blocking my bawling with a fist shutting my mouth up. And my gaze drifts to my shoulder, to my bruises. People say they show how strong you are. I say it's a cold reminder of the past you couldn't handle. Even though it's said that time heals wounds, the scars are still fucking there. I can't forget what happened. I can't forget how I felt. How I feel.

"Yeah, we've already bought some new toys. You can be the first one to try them, if you like!"
A loud noise is hearable in the background. It's a gun, and my ugly, colorless brown eyes widen.
"Cry baby, why ain't you crying? Your video has five hundred thumbs up! People love it!"
I try to smile, even to pretend a smile. The girl who seemed like she got healed, broke. I drop my fake smile, and whisper to myself, gently pressing the hang-up button and whipping my face clean with the sleeve of my dress:
"I can't do this anymore..."

And yes, anxiety hears, all my screams and tears. And they float again, like a piano - a torrential amount of water dragging me in its way, and I can't but follow. Is there a waterfall? Is there hope for me to survive? Is my saving boat there? No. Nobody's there.
Because Link, if you'd love me, you wouldn't have let me alone. Of all the lies I've heard, I love you, was my favorite. Oh, how much I imagined us to become. We share the same thoughts and interests, same opinions, although I love discussions; they aren't possible with you. Do I love you? I had so much hopes.

With this one reminder how cruel society is, this mental button in my head is turned on; all the built-up worries and doubts kill me in their own, depressing way.
Welcome!, this familiar voice reclaims in my head, echoing until it gets too quiet. Depression is back!
But well, what does it bring with it? Sadness? Is it only to be sad? Is questioning everything okay?

I stand up, though my knees are as wobbly as jelly, and I run. Nobody sees it, but I hear them at the end of the corridor. I run where my fat legs carry me to - an empty guest room? The window is opened and there is a bed, and I fall down on it, crawling into an embryo. Still no tears.
Oh, the fresh air is satisfying, it is filling up my lungs, but it isn't repairing the scar at my heart. So many hopes inside of me, all dead, and I ask: How could I ever be such a coward for thinking all those imaginations would ever happen? That everything is going to be okay in the end?

a/n: a part that is going to happen now is what happened, what I thought minutes ago. I am crying. Just in case, you felt something.

Why can't you love me, boy? Why? Am I too ugly for you? I'm laying alone in my bed, at night, it's twelve PM and nobody notices, how much I cry over you. My family doesn't. Why can't you love the way I am?
But it's okay, I understand it. She's skinnier, she's blonde, she's funnier, she's prettier, I would have chosen me neither, although it hurts.

And I imagine death; this all is over. No people, no feelings, only a peaceful dark world, only myself and nothing else. What is wrong with me? How did the depression come? I have no idea; it was just there. It is present and there, and I have to struggle with it, live with it, and there is no one understanding how I feel.

You seem to be so happy, you are the sun, the sunlight that everyone loves and admires. But I hate summer. I hate the fact that I have to wear short things, I hate the fact that nobody likes me and I am staring at the ceiling, thinking about how disgusting and ugly I am. I hate how I won't ever wear sleeveless shirts, I hate how I am in the changing rooms in PE and I look at all the other girls, whose thighs doesn't touch, who can gladly wear sleeveless shirts.
There is a time in the day where the sunlight leaves and the moon appears, I adore the moon, because I am the moon. I shine the brightest when nobody is around. Could I write all of this with someone being next to me? No.

Are all those thoughts making sense to you? Do you feel connected with all of this? Do you feel like you are understanding me? Have you ever been in this dark hole where loneliness is dragging you down? Can you even guess how dirty I feel?
Oh, I wish I could leave this horrid place with you, forever, and never return, and we live in our own world full of our love and admiration, but you don't exist. Nobody cares about you, until you are either pretty or dying. And I'm ugly and alive. Because this pain filling this lonely space deep inside of me shows that I still live, and living doesn't just mean breathing, it means enjoying every second of your life and being with someone you love.

Love, oh, love, this disturbing thing killing my heart yet embracing it. How can a word have such different sides? Joy, happiness, mirth, gaiety, cheerfulness, but distress, dread, ache and pain at the same time. What it means to me? Love is something that lets me hope something that won't ever happen; things are too impossible, I am not courageous, I am a retarded coward, stupid, making mistakes, doing the wrong things.

I hope you read this, because if you didn't, it means you can't understand the way I feel. I don't recommend it, not at all, but it is why I've started telling my story - letting all those feelings go, shouting something, but nobody hears it, not even an echo is noticeable. Words are weapons, it's what my people say. I am my people.

I cry, and cry, and cry. I really believed you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me, I really did. I just want to go to a place where nobody knows my name, nobody knows my past. The past is something you can't change; carry all the mistakes you've done on your own back, everyone says. Part of me wants to die tonight. Part of me wants it to be an accident. Part of me wants somebody to notice and stop me -

I hate this place, smash academy, everyone pretends as if everything is happy in life. It isn't, no, nothing is happy. Everything is faked. Imagine me, celebrating my birthday; I'd wish my own death yet everyone claps. Great, isn't it? I achieve clapping for suicide thoughts, but nothing for my thoughts.
I am going to leave.
Without hesitating, I don't even bother grabbing my stuff, nor telling anyone, I call the next taxi to come closer, I hop in, and tell them an address.

What I feel like?
Like I am trapped under a field of ice yet everyone is playing on the surface. I can touch it, but can't experience it myself.

(a/n: pretty short chapter. Hope you enjoyed and understood me. Would be great if you did.)