Sinkhole

1

Chrysanthemum​ Patel was angry.

Chrys was so, so angry.

She thought she was doing fine, she thought she could stop taking the lithium pills, she thought she would be able to survive without them, she would be independent once more. She wouldn't have to spend her life on a drug that left her empty and unable to feel anything.

And then she relapsed. Scars and lines, dark red and stark against her skin, spread across her arms, her stomach, her thighs in a matter of hours.

She had been clean two weeks. It didn't seem like much to others, not like they knew, but it was a long time for her.

And before she knew it, she was walking back to the same place where she tried to kill herself a few months ago.

Her anger melted into self hatred which morphed into depression which faded into suicidal thoughts.

The bridge would have a little bit of traffic at this time near sunset, but she slept so much that she wouldn't be able to go in the middle of the night. So this would suffice. After all, it would be the last time.

The crowd was thinning out, too - lucky for her. She hated other people. Really, the only ones she interacted with still were her therapist, the bartender, and the other sluts she slept with.

Chrys Patel was alone.

She was just another number on her therapist's charts, just another face asking for another drink at the bar, just another pussy for another girl.

She was going opposite the direction of everybody else on the sidewalk. The city was going through the phase between business life and nightlife while the sun was setting, giving everything an ethereal glow, and she decided that she would stop for two minutes (two minutes only, she muttered to herself), to watch this world that she would soon be leaving.

She found the opportune spot in front of a flower shop, where she could stand in front of a potted tree without actually interrupting the flow of the people who passed by her. The flowers smiled brightly at her and she grimaced back. How ironic, she thought to herself, that a flower shop is where I see my last of the world.

It wasn't like there was an afterlife for Chrys, either. She was a hardcore atheist, and often mocked religion for what it was. After all, if there was a God, they wouldn't have made her like this.

The slow breeze picked up, and Chrys expanded her chest, breathing deeply. She was wearing a sleeveless leather vest over a black lacy bra (she didn't care that people would see her cuts, because it was also the last time they would ever see her) , and she could feel the chill setting into her skin, but she didn't care. Soon, she would be cold with death and not with the wind.

A loud cough brought Chrys out of her dark thoughts. A beautiful woman was heading her way, hand over her mouth, wheezing. She wasn't looking where she was going, and would most probably run into Chrys.

She ran into Chrys. And then the girl collapsed onto her.