Her life had never been good, ever.
When she was six, a car collided with her. It was the driver’s fault that her right leg had to be amputated.
When she was nine, she wrote a short story that she sent in for a competition, and the only remark she had gotten was “Thank you for your entry. However, it is somewhat lacking in some areas…”
When she was ten, she finally scored A* for all of her subjects, only to be the last in her class.
And when she was twelve, the worst thing in her life happened. Somehow, she had cancer and she had to undergo chemotherapy. But that was not the worst of it. The worst of it was that no one cared. Not a single of her classmates or even her “friends” visited her once. Not even her parents, who only went to her room to give her the prescribed medicine and to take her for regular visits to the hospital.
Three weeks later after contracting cancer, she lost it. Her strong will to survive had simply been diminished to nothing. She wanted to die; to slit her own fragile throat slowly so she could savour the feel of life seeping away. She wanted to kill the singing mockingbird outside her window that always sang gaily, as if nothing bad existed. Of course, she knew better that many things existed. Or so she thought.
Days passed by slowly and painfully as her urge to kill herself grew stronger and cried for attention every single waking moment of her miserable life. She simply could not find the point of living when no one cared about her. She needed company; she could not stand solitude, separated from everyone else just because of the stupid cancer. Why could she not just go to school? At least it was much more interesting in school.
Day 25 came and she caved in to her hunger for her own blood, her own life. Before midnight, she slowly crept into the kitchen and retrieved a knife. Returning to her room, she contemplated the results of her actions-to-be. No one cared. Her parents would be better off without a child like her, one with cancer and poor grades. The teacher would not care, for she was simply a student and nothing more. Her classmates would not care and would probably gossip more about her after she was dead.
Dead. What did it mean? To her, it only meant relieving herself of a tiresome and bothersome life that was not worth living at all. After all, would her burden of living be not lifted after she died? Why not? She looked dreamily at the knife glinting in the pale moonlight and decided.
She would kill herself at the stroke of midnight. End her life, finally.
Somewhere beyond, a wild animal screeched and howled. Somewhere beyond, people were jeering at her in their dreams. Somewhere beyond, death was waiting.
She checked the clock beside her. It was a minute to midnight and she waited patiently, perched on the bed, sitting cross-legged. A few more seconds, then midnight struck.
She lifted the kitchen knife and smiled. In the window pane she could see her reflection, pale and weary. Her hair had dropped off in chunks and she looked terrible. All the more reasons to kill herself. She took a deep breath and edged the knife closer to her vulnerable throat.
Something hit her side before she could complete her action, but not distracted, she continued. Blood slowly seeped out from the gaping wound. She fell back, all her energy gone and somehow the thing was in her peripheral vision. It was a slip of paper and it read, “Don’t give up hope. You can do it! May the Lord be with you. Mary.”
Mary was her “best friend” in school, and there was no reason why she would suddenly throw a message through her window at midnight. A spark of hope actually ignited deep in her lonely heart, but it was too late.
Her vision darkened as regret coursed through her veins. She could only shed a single warm tear before everything stopped.
On April 13th, 2010, midnight, Rebecca Leana Reed died.
