Lethal Lullaby

The Beginning of the End

Is there a God? If there is, where is he? Is there a devil? Well, of course there is. There can't be any other explanation for the damnation I am living in. What is my name you ask? I am Marissa Atwood and this is my story.

I don't belong in this world, I never have and I never will. Sometimes I just wish that I could let go, fall into the abyss and let the darkness take me. It would be more comforting than this empty, cold, hollow world they call life. I feel like I am already dead, I was dead the moment I lost him. Where is he? Why has he left me here all alone? I am alone on this empty planet they call Earth. If I die where do I go, heaven, hell? Do they even exist or will there just be nothingness?

I suppose as they say don't pity the dead, pity the living. I stood at the edge of London bridge, looking down into the river that could wash away all my pain and sorrow. Only one more step and it would all be over. I've wanted this for days now ever since his funeral yet something is holding me back. Considering I am the girl whose an accident-prone klutz I'm surprised that I haven't tumbled to my death already. Tears were streaming down my face, my whole body was shaking in the cold. I was out in nothing but a t-shirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of high tops in the snow. It doesn't feel like Christmas eve, but it is. I took a deep breath, it was time, I closed my eyes and filled my head with memories of him and only him. I let go of the railing and took that final step, I was free falling through the air and then I wasn't anymore. I opened my eyes to find myself exactly where I had been only moments before. This wasn't right, I had let go, I must have let go, I'm sure of it. Before I had time to try again, two sets of arms grabbed me and pulled me back over the ledge. I looked up to find my parents Ryan and Gwen, their ocean blue eyes were filled with terror and relief.

A part of me wishes I could say that I was glad to be saved. But, that would be a lie now they have damned me to live without him and that is a fate worse than death. Do I dare try to take my life again, when the first attempt was such a success. I know they will be watching my every move now, there's no way I am going to get a second shot at this. I could cut my wrists in the bath tub and bleed out, but blood makes me squeamish. I could try to hang myself, but I can't tie a knot. I guess i will just need to put my plans to one side, for now.

My mother shut the door of our house, locking it behind her and posting the keys through the letterbox. My long, brown hair blew lightly in the wind, I could still smell the sweet scent of coconut shampoo. I wore black ripped styled jeans, a basic red top, and a long black cardigan with red doc martins firmly on my feet. As I took one last look at my surroundings, a big red sign caught my attention. It read "SOLD". I still can't believe that my parents sold the house that I grew up in. The house that held all my childhood memories and all I have ever known. I guess I can understand my parents wanting to leave, but it was a stupid mistake I won't try anything like that again. It has been a year and I've went to therapy, I take my medication, what more do they want from me? This place is filled with bad memories as of late, but it once was filled with good memories. I don't want to lose them, I don't want to forget a single detail about him. I feel close to him here, I fear if we move I will lose him forever, and if I'm being honest with myself that could tip me over the edge again quite literally.

I suppose I can take comfort in the fact that I did all that was in my power to stop this from happening. Little flashbacks started creeping their way back into my thoughts. Me screaming and shouting at my parents, stomping up the stairs, slamming doors, the works. I can't believe they thought that I would leave without a fight. I mean come on after what happened why would I want to leave; this place is all I have left of him and our memories together.

After many tantrums and a lot of fighting I finally admitted defeat. I knew that if my efforts hadn't worked by that point then they never would. My parents were pleased that I had finally accepted that we were moving, but I think they could still see the unhappiness in my eyes. They were trying their best to ignore it, but it doesn't mean that they didn't know it was there lingering on.