Hell Above

2

The only person that has ever shown her kindness, care, and love was her grandmother Ahsan. Whenever she would run away or got kicked out she’d almost always go to Ahsans’ house. She’d feed her and gave her a nice bed. Sometimes they would play board games together. She was Solas’ only friend. She even took her shopping for school, clothes, and whatever else she needed. Ahsan didn’t even care how Sola dressed. She had no room to talk. For a woman in her 80s she sure liked to pretend she was still in her 30s. She still had long hair that was only an inch or two shorter than Sola’s, all of it still grey from aging. Ahsan’s eyes looked just like Sola’s except with more wrinkles and bags around them. She shopped at stores like Forever 21. People would give her strange looks but she didn’t care because she felt comfortable the way she dressed. She was self-confident in the way she looked. Sometimes while they were in Hot Topic together she would look at the hair dye and say ‘When are you going to start dying your hair crazy colors?’ This made Sola laugh. They both knew Sola loved her long dark hair. She didn’t ever want to go to the hairdresser because she loved it so long, just the way it was. 

      When Sola was little and her father would burn his cigars on her arms, her grandmother would kiss them at night and say ‘they will go away, don’t cry, I promise you this will never happen again.’ Of course they both knew there was nothing she could do to prevent it. In the end it was going to happen again, and it did. Still, every night when Sola went to Ahsan’s house, she would say those words and smile at her. She wished she could do something about it, but how could she be there for Sola every day at her house protecting her from her father? It was impossible. She knew that!

            Last year her grandmother died in her sleep. So now when she left the house she had nowhere to go but the streets. She barely ever ate and she wore the same clothes nearly every day. Ahsan had been her safety net. Sola was on the high wire and now that the safety net was gone, she started wobbling, so unsteady and so unsure of herself. She had no one to talk to, she was deprived socially. She almost never spoke. It was almost as if she had gone mute. The only time you ever really heard her voice was either when her father was beating her or when she was reading aloud her own thoughts from her diary. Not that anyone was listening, but she liked to hear what she wrote out loud like it was only a story, a book she was reading, not real life. It was nice to pretend sometimes. But in the end she always had to go back to reality. The constant yelling, slamming of doors, breaking of lamps, and crying always jerked her right back to home life.

            With all the stuff that was going on around her it was almost a miracle she hadn’t turned to drugs to drown out her pain and misery. She probably didn’t think about it because she wouldn’t have had the money to get her fix. Still on the bridge ledge, she pulls out her razor blade. She looks at it. She’s had so many conversations with it, talking about how she needs it, how she’s trying to throw it away, but she can’t. It reminds her of that new song by Pierce the Veil on their new album ‘Slow conversations with a gun mean more than I’ve ever said to anyone.’ Although it’s a razor it still makes her feel like they are going through the same stuff as her. She looks at the shiny silver metal, turning it over between her index and thumb, watching the sun gleam off of it. She takes a peak over the edge of the bridge and stretches her right arm out all the way. Then, in a split second, she releases her thumb and index off of the razor. She sits and waits, listening for the sound of it to hit the tracks below. When it does she gives a faint smile. She didn’t know what she was trying to accomplish by throwing it away. If she was going to die today she wouldn’t need it anymore anyway. She just wanted to think some more…

            One day when Sola was at school she had worn a tank top. It exposed her arms and wrists. One of the popular girls saw her sitting at a table alone, like she always was, and saw the cuts on her arms. Popular people find vulnerability and use it to their advantage. This made her vulnerable and the girl could not resist this chance to try to get Sola to cry in front of everyone. So she approached Sola with all her friends. She then said “Oooh cuts… Why don’t you do everyone a favor and finish the job?”

            “Maybe I will.” Sola muttered.

            “Yeah right, you haven’t yet! You don’t have the balls. You are just a little pussy looking for attention. If you haven’t noticed, no one cares, but if you did, I’m sure someone would defecate your grave.”

“You mean desecrate…” she said.

“What did you say to me?”

“Desecrate… not defecate. Desecrate means to treat a sacred place or thing-“

“I know the definition.” The popular girl said, cutting her off.

“Okay… as long as you believe that…” Sola said under her breath as the popular girl stomped away angrily knowing that her friends will never let her live this down. If you can’t make someone cry, it’s a crime. Sola hardly ever cried, she didn’t like showing weakness and vulnerability to those who fed off of it. She didn’t even cry around her family. She waited until she was deep in the woods away from everyone. Only then would she allow herself to cry, to feel bad for her sad, worthless life. It was not like she didn’t want to cry all the time, but it had become habit to not show feelings to those who wouldn’t care. She put on a stone cold mask every day, never showing any kind of emotion.

It was time to write a few more thoughts down.

If I die today and I were to have a funeral for some odd reason I think I’d have a list of people who were allowed to come…

·        No matter how much I hate them, MYFAMILY

·        FAMILY FRIENDS

·        NO ONE FROM SCHOOL

I think I’d want to have security guards there. You know? What if Cindy from school and all her stupid little friends showed up? I wouldn’t want them to be let in. And what if they started crying? I’d want security to drop kick her. If she were to cry about my death I’d laugh. She’s not the only reason I’m about to do this. But she is near the top of the list. Man if only someone would read this to her after I jump maybe she’ll shut her mouth and no one else will have to be like me.

          She puts it down again and starts walking on the ledge like on a balance beam or on a high wire at a circus. Making the crowd noises like “Oooh, Ahh!” every time she’d lean back and forth wobbling. She did this in an attempt to entertain her dark gymnastic joke. She feels as if it’s been hours that she’s been standing there. She suddenly wondered what time it was, but then quickly brushed that thought away knowing it didn’t matter. Her parents wouldn’t come looking. They never did and they never will…