Love, Death

Khaalida tossed in her bed as she had been for hours, nightmares always troubled her. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead. Her silver hair stuck to her face, even though her window was wide open, the wind blowing the curtains around wildly. Whimpers began to leave her mouth as she threw the covers off her sweaty body, the blood oozing from her stomach now very visible. The red of the blood was stark against the light blue of her, now stained, pyjama shirt. A shrieking sound flooded the room as a banshee flew into the room from the dark night air. The scream of the banshee notifying that death was coming. Looking up into the corner of the room it finally noticed. Its eyes widened as it took off back out the window, the shrieking following. Khaalida shot upright in her bed, clutching her left side. Pulling up her shirt she saw a bullet wound. The blood seemed to almost bubble out now that she was sitting up and her heart was above the wound. This was not the first time. Not the first time she had woken up bleeding and definitely not the first time she had had someone else's injuries inflicted on her. Seventeen years. Seventeen years she had awoken to all types of injuries. The torture she felt was almost unbearable and she often prayed, hoping for it all to end. The pain she felt from others would never end but each wound always healed up quick, unlike her own self-inflicted wounds. She would never die because of someone else's pain.

Khaalida screamed. Her body contorting as she writhed in pain, attempting to find a position that wouldn't hurt so much. Nobody came running. Nobody ever did. Orphaned at the age of 3. Somehow she survived on the street, always feeling like someone was watching over her. Tears fell from her eyes as she hobbled to her bathroom. She grabbed a towel and clogged the wound. Unfortunately that would not be her only injury for tonight. She tipped three painkillers into her mouth with a shaky hand. She coughed and spluttered as she tried to wash them down with water. Finally she made her way slowly back to her bed. As she laid her head down she heard a crumple of paper. Pulling the note from behind her pillow, she read, "I'm sorry. -D" scribbled in cursive.

"Who are you?!" she screamed aloud, looking around the room tentatively.

This was not the first time Khaalida had received a hand written note from the mysterious 'D'. Usually the message read something along the lines of "I'm sorry" or "I wish it wasn't you but you're the strongest", but stronger than who? Usually these would appear during the worse pains. Usually a letter meant that the pain so far was just the rain before the storm.

She dived under the covers of her bed, hoping to hide from whatever inflicted these pains on her, like a child hiding from monsters. She knew it would never help. For a few moments, everything seemed quiet. The wind howled outside the house, but inside, nothing was happening. No extra pain, in fact, the bullet wound felt numb and she barely felt the pain. She worried but soon screamed in agony as she watched a cut appear done the centre of her forearm. Blood ran from her arm and pooled on her bed. She barely had time to process before pain began in the other arm. A cut appeared, ripping through the skin as easily as cutting a piece of paper. Her body felt warm and her head felt faint. Her body slumped and her breathing stopped as she had a heart attack. Then her body started to twitch as she had a fit. The twitching subsided and after a few seconds, her breathing began back up again. She sat up and her body felt numb. She was almost unable to feel the pain of all her wounds. She grabbed a new note from the end of the bed. "You can let go now. I am so sorry. Love, Death". The blood dripped from her arms and onto the white sheets but she didn't care. She had already made up her mind. She grabbed the gun from her bedside table, it had sat their all this time just waiting for this moment.

Khaalida aimed the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.