Despite my best efforts, the door slams behind me, the thud resonating from wall to wall, ringing through the corridor. I scurry outside, determined not to be caught again. It is raining heavily, which is something of a relief to me, the pitter-patter of the raindrops being one of the only constant things in my life. And even they end after a while. I sigh, shoving my hands into the pockets of my tattered raincoat.
The faint silhouette of the trees is the only sign that I am not heading in the wrong direction, but that is all I need. I have travelled through this path so many times that it is etched into my memory. Not for long, I remind myself. Suicide, suicide, suicide. I murmur that word over and over again until it feels strange and unfamiliar on my tongue.
After what seems like forever, I reach my destination- an abandoned building that is soon to be demolished. "Well, that's going to happen sooner than they thought," I declare, as I strike a match. Fires have always fascinated me- the way they dance and roar. It is as if they are part of a fascinatingly tragic story, and all we can do is watch, mesmerised, until all that is visible has been turned to ash, a bitter reminder of the ruthlessness of beauty. Come to think of it, it is a tremendous favour to the city- getting rid of me and of the building at the same time.
I scream and writhe in pain, but I know that it is worth it. There is a tremendous similarity between me and the raging fire around me- I used to burn so bright, but it was never enough, never enough for them. Why would it be, when in burning I caused so much hurt to others? Why would it be, if I could never be controlled? But I burned, even if they refused to acknowledge my beauty. I burned, and soon all that will be left of me is dying embers.