Christina Harwood February 4, 1999 LA 345 P. Souvorin Close Call Late one evening a young woman, in tears, steps into her bathroom torn apart with emotional pain and anguish. She raises her head to look in the mirror. A terror stricken face shines back at her with the coloring of a Scarlet Macaws red breast and a pasty complexion on her face. Her high, delicate cheekbones are waterfall ledges from the tears that she sheds. As she stands before the mirror, she is clad in a long, flowing nightgown the color of the full moon.
She turns away from the mirror and her small, dainty feet are heard as she ever so slowly turns towards her bathtub. Its seems like an eternity for her to go just two steps from the mirror and her image. She begins to look at a small, sharp object in the back corner of her tub. Curious she picks this up and begins to trifle with it. All the while her sobs become deeper and would pierce any bystanders soul with the gut wrenching sound they brand to the ears. Her whole body is numb from her anguish and she senses her soul becoming lost in a void of nothingness. Looking at the object through clouded blue eyes, she lowers it towards her right wrist of soft, peachy flesh.
Slowly she closes her eyes and in one swift motion her skin starts to ooze her life’s essence, blood. Eyes tightened and biting on her lower lip, she whimpers from the pain that has now become physical. Her sobs are quelled as her pain is freed from her wrist as she sits propped against her toilet. Thinking begins to become sluggish as her time nears. She lays the flowing fountain of release in her lap.
Her nightgown becomes a blood-moon, stained forever with her spirit in the liquid that ran from her. Her breathing enters upon a preparation for her ceasing to exist; thoughts are now in oblivion with her soul. For, she has done that most of heinous of deeds a person could execute die at their own hand. Now her spirit is slumped over her once lively shell that held her soul, she is lifted towards the heavens to her final resting. A mixture of fragrances at the spot where her body lies that of sweet, wild roses and a salty pungency which was wrought from the deep red liquid. A shattering scream tears the young from her sleep sitting straight up in a cold sweat.
She begins to frantically check that she is fine finally, assured that it was nothing but a mere dream. Slays her head back down onto her soft, downy pillow drifting back to sleep with her cat at her feet and cuddling close to Honey, her teddy bear.