Suicide Ghost #Wattys2016

{Prolouge}

December 2nd 1873

The night was cold and stormy; the same night that my life was stolen from the grasp of my fingertips. At the tender age of 19, I should be healthy, but that was also taken from me. I was sick. Very sick. And there was nothing anyone could do to save me. My mother had tried everything in her will to cure me, but nothing worked and I doubted anything would. Lying in my own agony was all that I was able to do.

That night, I coughed. That cough turned into blood oozing from the dry corners of my mouth, all over the white bedsheets. It was then that I knew this night would be my last. I didn't want to suffer like my doctor said I would. I knew it could be over soon, so I used all the strength I had to push myself out of that dreaded bed and drag myself to the door. Mother had left to go to the markets to grab some food for me, and wouldn't be returning anytime soon, seeing as she took the horses. I struggled to even to place one foot after the other, but eventually, I lugged myself down the stairs, which creaked underneath my weight.

Holding on to the wall, I made my way to the large kitchen we housed. A piece of paper and a fountain pen was lying on the large oak round table. I wrote a quick note to my mother addressing my pain and the suffering I had caused both her and myself.

 A glistening object caught my attention and I reached out to grab it. As I picked it up, the knife brushed my fingers, sending a trickle of crimson blood down my hand. It had recently been sharpened. Perfect.

The metal handle was cold, but it wouldn't last long. As I brought the knife to my chest, I could hear the strong, melodic beats of my heart, but I knew this was for the better. The knives tip was positioned right over my only source of life. A wave of relief rushed through my body as I pulled the knife back, forcefully sending it back again, penetrating right through my skin and through my ribcage. It's all over now. 

I felt my soul being taken from the suitcase that had had previously been housing me. However, when I regained conscience, I was staring at my dead body. Looks like I hadn't been put out of my misery. I was now a ghost. A suicide ghost.