A time to dance, once again
Well, she was not bleeding on the ballroom floor just to get the attention. Just thinking about it is ridiculous... and odd. Yet, it seemed quite like that's why she used to do all the things before.
She sure got their complete attention. They all looked at her like she was some weird attraction. There was she, in that spot just under the faint lights, and the setting was perfect in her mind before, with the fashion magazines lining in the walls of her room and at the sides of her mirror. But this one was quite different, bullet holes in the immaculate walls lined before some strange whim (the queen of the dance involved all the way months before she was crowned), the faint, hissing sound of a balloon dying somewhere. The hysterical cry of someone not involved but still affected, and the dresses tainted in blood. Just dying alone somewhere on the dance floor without anyone noticing it, that's what she thought was bound to happen. No, this was not the pleasing picture she had in her mind.
She forced herself to continue the act and not let her go by what she caused. She kept her composure, remembered faintly the posture practiced in the afternoon and tried to acquire it while her stomach was still bleeding abundantly on the floor... But she pulled the trigger all wrong. Her knees were trembling, her arms were concrete-made and all she could do was a mere shadow of that glorious posture practiced so many times. "C'mon, have some composure! ... How was it?" But her stomach was kind of anaesthetized and she urinated her dress as soon as she got a slight resemblance of that posture. She gave up the hope.
But, after all, she didn't choose this role. The day she started school the stage was prepped and all of her classmates played well. The mockery and abuses, the discrimination and the silences began the setting. The dark clothes and the piercings, the cries for help and the faint responses that just deepened it all followed.
What did she do? She played her role and she made it sincerely. In fact she took it so seriously we've ended here. And so, some cried. Simply cried. Was it their fault? Well, they believed it from the tears and the teeth right down at their feet, the blood starting to be enough to form a small river going nowhere and in circles.
"She wanted envy, malice and, oh so much, attention". "She wanted a break and she never knew how to ask it properly". "Every time she spoke about shooting herself with a shotgun I offered her a wedding... didn't know what else to do to calm her down...". Those and others were the short answers her classmates gave to the police, and as the declaration of her boyfriend ended the police closed the case under the label "suicide caused by a severe depression".
No one was blamed for it, and the common opinion was that kids will be kids, always hiding in their estrogen up-and-downs and trying to survive in their hostile environment with those aubergine dreams.
Just one photo was taken by the media. The open angle of her screaming while the paramedics were trying to carry her to the ambulance. She'd rather die than facing her class again.
And she did so.