Junk Stories

Story 3

I took a breath- in and out- a calming breath, a reassuring breath, a desperate and broken breath. Don't even think about it, I scolded myself. It will eventually get better. Or not, that little voice in the back of my head whispered.

Another breath. As I dragged a hand across my face, I quickly pulled it back in surprise -- it was wet! I had not realized I was crying. With that discovery, I started crying harder.

I took a step, toward what? Who knows. All I know is that I couldn't stay there any longer. I had stayed past my welcome, and it was time to leave. I didn't bother with the loathed goodbyes, the pleasantries no one liked giving. I quietly slipped out the back, praying no one noticed, yet hoping against hope that someone would notice, would stop me, would make sure I was okay. No such luck.

I was out in the dark, cold night yet again. And, yet again, I was alone. Lonely, I thought while making my way about. A scary word for no one wants to experience it. A sad word for the implication is substantial. A solemn word for one can be in no cheerful mood to express it. Lonely. 

No one wants to fell alone, yet there I was. Will they notice that I'm gone? I question, disparagingly.

No, they will not notice. They never noticed when I was there; why should they notice when I'm gone?  After awhile, the tears had not stopped; they had slowed , but had not stopped completely. Nor, I fear, will they ever stop completely.