a flower for jacquelyn

two

It was seven-o-six. And I was hungry.

The lights were on downstairs - illuminating an empty house. An armchair, a few scattered rugs, bare walls, all irradiated by the dim fluorescent lightbulb, desperately needing to be changed. Some newspapers were scattered around the table. A haphazard feeling would overcome any individual in here, as if the room would tilt, and they'd fall out - straight into the abyss of the gloomy and unknown.

The fridge was half-open, cold air escaping into the room. Greeted by nothing in the fridge, I sighed and went to the freezer. A box sat there, some microwave dinner.

I felt like vomiting. The sodium content in that would do nothing for me: I'd been fighting a stomach ache all day. But the hunger won, and I stuck the dinner in the microwave.

The hunger won.

When the food was done, I grabbed a fork and began to eat, finding a seat at the kitchen table. Television wasn't something we had anymore, so I couldn't mindlessly watch anything. No music, either. Nothing to force the grey out of the room, a fog that hung there permanently.

It was me and the sound of the refrigerator, pumping electricity or whatever it was doing. It was probably being loud simply to irritate me. Some pastime. Imagine existing simply to make other's lives miserable - like that stupid fridge. It mocked me.

It mocked me.

It mocked me. I tapped my free hand on the table once. I took a bite of the dinner, some chewy, granulated vegetable protein or something. It was definitely less-than-delicious. My hand met the table a second time and a third time and a fourth time and it became a pattern.

My mouth began to water and my stomach churned, predicting (or maybe causing) my race to the toilet upstairs. I abandoned the meal, hunger satisfied enough. It didn't appease the headache, or cease the dull ache in my head. But it was enough.

It was enough.

At eight-o-three, I was in my room again. I had trudged up the stairs, the pain increasing in my head with each step.

I was going to take some Lunesta, some type of sleep medication my mom had dug up from her closet, but I didn't. Instead, I tugged on a piece of hair and fell onto the bed. I couldn't force myself to get up and take some - though I knew I wouldn't sleep for hours. But there was this weight on my chest, and I couldn't shove it off.

But eventually, I fell asleep. And I would wake up the next morning for school.

And I would wake up.

~~~

Hi everyone, quick author's note here. This story isn't going to be written linearly, so bear with me here. I like to think it's told from two alternate realities: odd-numbered chapters will be the aftermath of Jacqueline's death, and the even-numbered chapters will reflect what happens to her if she stays alive. It's up to the reader to determine what reality is the "actual" one. :) Also, I know the first few chapters are kind of a downer, and I'm sorry. They'll get happier!

Thanks for reading!

~Charlie