Her muddled dark eyes peered back at her. They carried dark bags that stretched into bruised faded rings. She was expected to stay young; to be young. She looked older instead. Her eyes can tell you her past; an ancient buried battlefield. A buried battle of tears. There was nothing rosy red about her cheeks. If you spoke about a night-blooming cereus, she would laugh at your face. She bloomed neither at day or night. She never bloomed.
Diving deep into her thoughts was a massacre. It was like a tea party, except there weren't cookies; just tea that would burn your tongue. Her thoughts would eat you alive until you couldn't function properly. You would become the prey of them.
She never reached her "parent's" expectations. They demanded too much of her, but they didn't reach her expectations either. So they disowned her a few days ago, and she moved into a shabby apartment. As long she was far away from them, they could all forget about her. They had probably forgotten about her anyway. They had their other children that indulged them. Her parents secretly denied the other part of her. They were afraid of the shadows that would come and get them at night. Who could blame them though? They were spoiled by a blissful selfish life.
Before she left, they returned the photo album of her baby pictures. It was easier to erase her from their life that way. She destroyed them. Those pudgy ugly pictures disturbed her, so she cut them up with scissors and threw them in the bathroom's trash bin. They were still in there. There was no point of keeping those memories anyway. Her childhood sucked.
The rooms behind her in the mirror were barer than the white bathroom. There was no television, no furniture, no telephone, no bed, and no laptop. She decided she didn't need those things once she moved in. It wouldn't be the problem for her anymore today. No job. No bills to pay. No more physical, emotional, mental, spiritual pain. She became an atom.
But there was a pot of aloe vera sitting by the window sill since she moved in. She hated it. You could slash its leaves, but it would ooze out liquid to heal the wounds. It was a plant that never gave up life. It didn't give a shit what you thought about it or what you did to it. It kept growing for the past few days even when it hadn't been watered for weeks. She was envious. She wanted to push the plant out of the window. She almost did it though but decided not to. It was pointless.
Her eyes left the mirror in the reflection. She turned the water up in the bathtub. Warm, refreshing, relaxing water gushed out like a waterfall. Once the water filled the tub to the top, she peeled her clothes off and went in. It was seductive; the calm nothingness. She slipped herself deeper… until she became the water.
Then there was the silence of dripping water.