fractures

all the world's a stage

Layne

I hide in my room for a miserable eternity. Suppressing my hunger, ignoring my thirst, just to avoid heading downstairs. I can't face my mother again, not after what she said to me and what I said to her. If only my father was back from his dinner with his colleagues, then he could at least be the buffer between my mother and I.

My phone starts buzzing again, disrupting the peace and quiet of the room. Abbey's been calling for ages. I've been letting it go to voicemail for ages. What can be so important now that she has to keep calling me? Surely nothing, right? She probably just wants to gossip about school and teachers and students.

Books and papers are scattered all over my floor. Evidence of my failed attempts to try and study to take my mind off certain things I really, really want to forget.

Perhaps my mother is right. Maybe I really have been brooding over Marlene's death a little too much.

The buzzing dies off, only to be replaced by yet another onslaught. Finally, the annoyance gets to me and I drag myself off the bed to answer it.

"Layne, why didn't you pick up earlier?" Abbey somewhat yells from the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, I was asleep," I lie, hoping that I actually sound tired. "What is it?"

There is a pause, where I hear some shuffling of papers, then Abbey speaks again. "Could I come over? I might've found some stuff about Marlene."

As much as I want to hear what she's found out, I have to say no. "Sorry, now's not a good time. My mother's real pissed."

"Oh, it's fine. I can tell you now," Abbey offers.

"Yeah, sure."

There is another pause where I hear the sound of a keyboard tapping away. Abbey must've put me on speaker.

"Did you look at social media ever since Marlene's death?" Abbey asks.

"I've never looked at social media for a long time, Abbey. My mother banned me from using it a year ago when she thought I was spending too much time on it," I mutter.

More tapping. "Oh. Sorry to hear, but you didn't delete your accounts right?"

Guessing where this conversation is headed, I check whether the door is locked. If my mother comes in while I'm on social media, I'll be saying goodbye to the world.

"I didn't," I answer while turning my laptop on.

"Good. Log on to your Askfm, assuming you have one."

I click on a new browser and type in the web address for Askfm without a word. While it loads, I ask, "How did you even know Marlene had Askfm?"

"Everyone has it nowadays," Abbey replies matter-of-factly. "Besides, it was easy to find."

Once it loads, I search Marlene's username and click on her profile. "Okay, I'm at Marlene's profile. What did you see?"

"Nothing in particular. Just scroll through her answers. I'll hang up for now okay? Call me when you're done."

I start scrolling.

Most of the questions on her profile are asked by people who have nothing better to do in their own lives. Questions like, "why is your cousin so pretty but you're so ugly?" or "why are you so stupid?". But the thing that captures my attention is Marlene's answers. They're all quotes, that seem very much like parts from poems.

I read through her responses to the last few questions she ever answered on Askfm.

why do you act like you're so cool and popular when you're absolutely not!

Will you let me alone? I burn for my own lies.
The nights electrocute my fugitive,
My mind. I run like the bewildered mad
At St. Clair Sanitarium, who lurk,
Arch and cunning, under the maple trees,
Pleased to be playing guilty after dark.  

Marlene's answer is from a poem written by James Wright called At The Executed Murderer's Grave. She always liked his poems. But why would she answer questions like that?

As I continue reading through the questions on her profile, I find out in horror that there's many questions asking her to kill herself. I know she was bullied by The Regium, but I didn't know it was this bad.

why don't you relieve all those around you of the burden you are?

Pity, forgive, but urge them back no more
Who, drunk with passion, flaunt disunion's rag
With its vile reptile blazon. Let us press
The golden cluster on our brave old flag
In closer union, and, if numbering less,
Brighter shall shine the stars which still remain.

A part from the poem A Word for the Hour by John Greenleaf Whittier. She liked his poems too. But it's the last question I see that catches my attention.

why don't you just kill yourself like celia wants you to?

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances.

It's by William Shakespeare, from As You Like It. But all her answers, nearly all of them are from poems about suicide. Is that what Abbey means? Does Abbey think Marlene committed suicide? But she couldn't have. She wouldn't have. I just know it. She wouldn't just leave me like that.

But why do I feel like I can't really believe that anymore?