The Story of Ivanna

Chapter 1 "The beginning to her end"

The Story of Ivanna

Chapter 1

The beginning of her end.

Time: 6:27 a.m.

Place: Break Point Bridge, Sioux Falls

The traffic sounds were so intense, and even though I had earmuffs on, the squawks of seagulls and beeps of cars still pierced my ears, leaving a faint ringing noise echoing in my head. I looked all around me to see the bridge so alive at such an early hour. Everything was thriving and here I was about to poison it with devastation as if I was the black plague. I think about how my negativity against the world is driving me to do what I was about to do. Every honk of a frustrated driver and random shout of some passing civilian would yank me back into the outside world again. I glance over the rail and see the peaceful morning waves. A never-ending cycle of crystal clear blues with small ripples of white foams dancing on top of each wave. The whispers of the sea are beckoning me to it, and frankly this was the best way I could think of to end it. The water had always been my ally.

Flashes of my childhood are flooding my head with memories of swimming along the shore of this very sea. I was a swimmer when I was younger, I used to be called "asral" because if I wasn't at home or school I was swimming away from my problems in the water. But once I started High School and education became more important and was my number one priority I never swam again. It's been years since I've fully submerged myself in water. It had been a long time since these waters had embraced me and here I was jumping again into their arms for the last time. No longer to be parted from its sweet embrace.

A gust of wind blows my hoodie off and I pull it back and tie it more close fitting, then I bring my hands to my face and breath hot air into them realizing I had black ink splotches scattered around my hands. I quickly shove my hands back into my warm pockets and they ache as I do so. This morning seemed more intense. This specific morning seemed different. Everything was slightly off. But then again its not every day you plan to die. Every time I took a step it felt as it I was giving something away. I felt as if everyone was watching me, as if they could read my mind and were judging me. But no one was watching, because no one cared.

My senses amplifyed everything around me. Suddenly I could hear the smack of footsteps from afar, hear the faint whistling in the distance and smell the salt in the air. I breathe out and see a cloud of warm air leave my lungs. I follow the cloud with my eyes as it rises up. I look up at the sky and saw that it was that odd moment in the day when the sky was a mixture of night and day.

The sun and the moon were fighting over who would rise. The moon was losing its fight and retreated and the bright sun colored the sky with warm oranges and yellows. I think back on what my purpose is here and wonder what everyone will think I was feeling. People have been mislead into thinking that when someone is on the brink of death all of them must feel the same. Sad, like they've lost all hope. But in fact I feel the opposite. Peaceful and calm. Like I had been in prison my whole life and today was my last day. Like I was finally being unbounded from whatever was tying me down.

I think back to my family. I know this is going to hurt them but if they felt what I felt they would understand. What would life be like after this? Would anyone really give a shit after 3 weeks? Am I just going to be another suicide story and everyone would think I was just doing this to make a scene?

I will miss my family. No doubt about that. I will miss my mother's cooking and the way she would watch shows with me. The way she was sure that Dean and Cas were gay would make me laugh because she understood what I saw. I will miss the way she would take care of me when I was sick. I remember once we were out shopping and we were walking across the parking lot and we passed a truck and it starting backing up, and immediately my mothers hand on my back tightened and yanked me back to save me from being hit. My mother's first instinct was to protect me. As we walked away all I could remember was what I had read in her eyes.