Freedom

Kohikari

This must be how the raindrops feel…

She had been born a perfect baby.

Rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, a mop of silky black hair.

No illnesses of any sort.

Other parents had to deal with Down Syndrome, ADHD, Multiple Sclerosis, depression…

Her parents got the perfect daughter.

She lay on her bed, unmoving.

She got straight A’s, Academic Achievement Awards, was mildly popular— heck, she even had the perfect boyfriend. Her friends were numerous and enthusiastic. Everyone liked her.

No one loved her.

No one knew what she went through to be perfect, to best the best daughter, girlfriend, student. No one knew the pain. No one knew the girl behind the perfect mask.

She was so alone.

She looked over at the wall, catching sight of her gray hair as she did so. Gray. It was time for a dye job again. She couldn’t remember when her straight black hair started paling, but she was only in her teens. She could make it the raven it once was with chemicals.

She wore contacts, to cover up the once sapphire orbs which were now the color of rain clouds. Even her skin had taken on a grayish tint.

Not that anyone noticed anyway, with all the makeup she put on. Her mask.

Grey. That was what she called herself now. It was what she had become.

Dull.

Dead.

Uncaring.

Yet so peaceful.

Even with so much pain, was she still numb?

The drawings on her bedroom wall. Perfect. Detailed. False. They were by her, all right. Little “Award” stickers adorned each and every one of them.

In her mind, she was split. One part was staring off into space, just like her real body. The other was tearing down the sketches, ripping the perfect lies into tiny shreds.

She couldn’t go on, could she?

The question was asked lazily to herself.

Well then, what could she do?

End it.

A voice came from nowhere. Her own.

But how?

There were so many ways.

She could take the commonly chosen path of slit wrists. The blood would be so beautiful, so richly red as it fanned out on the floor. A final redecoration for her placid, obedient, pink room.

She disgusted herself.

No, not the wrists. Where could she find something sharp enough? Besides, someone would stop her. They always did.

A part of her, distant, was disgusted by her cold calculation of suicide. Except it wasn’t cold. Cold cared. She didn’t.

Ah, the other common way.

Jumping.

The thrill of heights, falling, falling…

No one to stop her. To prevent her final sleep. For she hadn’t slept in days. No, she was too busy getting good grades and keeping herself perfect for everyone else.

Well, now she was doing something for herself.

She could finally escape.

Fly free.

She was on the roof of her apartment building now. Alone. She was always alone. No one cared. Not even she herself.

It was cold. Windy. Gray.

Perhaps it would rain today.

No matter. She wouldn’t be around for it. Or tomorrow, either.

Oblivion.

The final release.

She stepped up to the ledge. Her gray hair blew back away from her face, revealing eyes devoid of the blue contact lenses.

With her hair, eyes, and perfectly pressed gray dress, she matched the sky.

Such a pretty picture.

Such a perfect girl.

Going to the perfect rest. The perfect sleep.

She opened her eyes one last time. The last thing she wanted to see was the statue on top the house across the street. A marble bird. Taking flight.

She, too, was a bird about to take wing.

Her calm eyes slid shut. Into the beautiful darkness.

As she fell forward, it began to rain. Was the sky weeping for her? She thought amusedly.

No. Because not even the sky cares.

She fell with the teardrops of the sky, plummeting with this elixir of life, which all things need.

They sang, and she sang with them.

She was free.

This must be how the raindrops feel…