Short Stories

Across the Computer

*Trigger Warning* -mentions of suicide, overdose, and cyber bullying.
The girl sat on her bed, a packet of pills in one hand and water in the other. She stared at them, tears running down her cheeks and across her swollen lips as the words he wrote replayed through her mind like a video on loop. It did not matter what she was doing, the words were always there, ingrained into her memory and burning her. She couldn't take it. The messages became more frequent, first the occasional jeer at her weight, but as time passed the words got crueler, until they told her to do the thing she was sitting on her bed for, kill herself.

"Everyone will be happier with you gone," he said, "You are worthless, a burden. No one wants you here. You are a waste and no one wants to be around you."

She took the pills and set them onto her bedspread, taking each one from the package and placing it into a small bowl next to her. The pills taunted her, teased her, called her in. They begged for her to take and swallow, to use to end the pain. But she hesitated, unsure. It was if the demons in her mind, the ones replaying the words, the voices, the names in her head cleared for a split second. That was all it took for her to push the bowl away, to gain some semblance of control of whatever haunted her mind. But it didn't last. As she tried to pull her hand back the demons came back on her, screaming in her mind, controlling her. Her mouth opened and her tears poured more rapidly, her mouth opening in a silent scream, a plea for someone, but whatever had a grip on her mind was too strong, for no sound came. The messages came back, burning into her eyelids and stinging her ears, the same words repeating over and over, "End it."

It was if she was in a haze as she took up the pills, forcing them down one by one, the pattern coming almost instinctively. Open, pour, swallow. She kept like this, weeping as her vision blurred, placing down the now empty bowl and reaching towards her laptop. Her vision swirled, black intruding in the color, her senses becoming dulled as she reached for one key. As the darkness took over her mind, her finger fell onto the button she desired, showing her pain to the whole world as she clicked enter.

He was sitting on his couch, half asleep when his computer buzzed, a new notification popping up. Annoyed about his interrupted rest, he quickly went to his computer, ready to lay into whoever caused this notification. Clicking the link, he smirked when the username popped up as his mouse veered towards the comment section, looking for an excuse to make fun of her. That's when he looked towards the captionless picture, and the note that it displayed.

To whomever you are, you've won. Your wish has been granted, I won't be coming back to school, or work, ever again. I hope that you are proud. Mission accomplished, right? You drove me into a cellar and locked me down there, strangling me until I couldn't breathe. I sit here, staring at the bowl of pills, and thinking of you. The comments you make are burned into me, they are all I see anymore. And I don't even know who you are. Coward. You sit behind your screen, a name without a face, taunting a random girl. Whatever I did to you, I will never know, but I hope this image satisfies you: A girl who did nothing but look out for others, lying on her back across her rumpled sheets, pale and lifeless. Pill wrappers strewn at her feet and a discarded cup of water dampening the covers, her laptop next to her, this letter left open. And I hope you are happy, because you are the one that did this. And you got away. The murderer that never got caught. Fun title, huh? I know justice will never be served, and I know that things will never change, but I hope that this never will happen to you. The loneliness, the hurt, I would never wish that on anyone, because I know what that does. The comments destroy you, eat you inside out, lodge in your throat until you are gasping for air, and there is nothing you can do. Even though you did this to me, I wish you the best, knowing that a young girl's parents will come home to find their normally "happy" child lying on her bed, this note open, eyes forever shut. And it is all your fault.        - Your Victim
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for being fat, for being ugly. I'm sorry my face disgusts you. I'm sorry you had to see me. But why won't you leave me alone? You follow me everywhere, lurking, striking me while I'm up and then kicking me while I'm down. I'm sorry, but I can't play your game any longer. The pain is too much. And I can't get out.