Hue and Cry | ✓
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without the thought of hope, a troubled teen attempts to justify her death in heartfelt letters but does not get far, soon discovering that the divine revelations of living are so much better than the tragic outcomes that relate to suicide.
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all the photography does not belong me but to their rightfully talented owners. (credit given to those i know of)
warning 1: most parts may be a trigger so please read with caution! (contains implications of suicide, neglect etc. but is not labelled mature because it does not need to be.)
warning 2: i wrote this when i was thirteen so it is not up to professional standards, however, i still believe that it sends out a very important message to everyone. please be advised of this before being critical, thank you.
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Hello. I’m Cassidy. I’m 16 years old, and I am helpless. I’m weak, defenseless and not to mention unassuming. I am utterly boring and uninteresting. I wouldn’t be surprised if God himself overlooked me. Maybe that’s why my life sucks so much. My face is dull and pale, and my hair is mousy brown. My eyes are black and my fingers are long and stringy. Once in junior high, a teacher likened me to ghost. I had wanted to tell her, “Yes. I remind myself of a ghost sometimes too.” But I didn’t say anything in return. I have one friend and even she doesn’t like me for me; only for the shiny new car my step dad bought me. Boys don’t notice me. And when they do it’s only to pick out my flaws and display them to everyone around. All in all, I am a sad and pathetic specimen of a human being. Why am I writing this? Because on June 3rd, 2011, at 12:31 am, I died.
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