5 Seconds Too Late

She sat on the bluff overlooking the sea and stared at the knife in her hand, wondering if she had the courage to go through with it. Everything was going so wrong lately. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been truly happy. Oh sure, she seemed happy and normal on the outside. But inside she was screaming, beating at invisible walls until her fists were raw and bloody. It’s a good thing I’m such a good actress, she thought bitterly. Because that’s all I’ve been doing lately. Acting normal. Acting happy. Putting on masks and conforming to the standards of society, adding layer after layer until my true self lies buried too deeply to recover. What was the point of continuing to struggle? No one cared. She was all alone, so terribly, terribly alone. If only she had someone to talk to, someone she could tell her deepest feelings to, who wouldn’t be afraid of the depth, the intensity of her thoughts. Someone besides her journal.1

Her journal. Such an innocent looking little thing, yet inside it her soul was exposed for all the world to see. If anyone cared. Inside the battered blue book lay all her hatred, her self-loathing, her deepest desires and her most longed-for ideals. She had left it behind when she came out here. Perhaps, after she was gone, someone would find it and discover her true self. Her inner self that only came out of her pen, spreading, flowing, filling up the pages of the little blue book like water soaking into a dry cloth. Why did people care so much about how others lived their lives? Why couldn’t they live, and let live? She thought of the sheer masses of people all trying to fit in, hating themselves because no one could accept them for who they really were inside, and she got so angry, so filled with loathing for this place, this world…and she couldn’t do a thing to change it. 2

She gazed at the blade she held. A small thing, really, when compared to everything else, yet within it lay the power to end a life. She turned it over and over in her hands, lost in terrible thoughts. A flash of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked up. A rabbit was nibbling at some clover by the edge of the woods. She smiled ever so slightly, watching the animal and listening to the waves far below. The rabbit was so full of life, it’s nose and ears twitching as it ate. Suddenly, the bushes rustled, and a fox sprung out of nowhere, leaping at the helpless rabbit. It was over in minutes. Shaken, the rabbit’s death squeal still echoing in her ears, she stared at the fox. It’s red, bloody mouth seemed to leer at her, looming large in her vision as if to say You are nothing, just another piece of food destined to be crushed in the jaws of life. Nothing awaits you in the world. No one cares for you. Why prolong your misery?3

She snapped out of her momentary trance, her cheeks wet with tears, her decision made. Kneeling, she placed the knife between her knees, point up. She rested her wrists against either side of the blade, and then hesitated. She glanced down the path that led away from the bluff. Perhaps someone would…No. No one would. No one cared. No one ever had. Filled with fresh determination, she yanked her wrists up. White hot pain, followed by warmth as her life’s blood left her body in a rush, spilling over her hands to soak into the dry, dusty ground. She fell sideways, the blade hitting the ground in front of her. She did not hear the pounding footsteps of the frantic boy who rounded the corner.4

“NO!” He ran to her still body, a tattered blue book falling from his hand. “I care! I care! Don’t be dead, please, oh God…”5

His pleas, however, fell upon ears that were past all hearing. The boy’s heartrending sobs mixed with the pounding of the waves as the sun’s last rays caressed the surprisingly clean blade, flashing brilliantly along it and turning the silver to blood red.6