Collection of Lullabies:
Emily's Story.

(the following ideas all belong to me, & therefore i claim all rights and ownage to them. anyone found copywriting will be reported, & possibly sued. contains suicide by throwing oneself off a cliff. you have been warned.)

Emily Graham ran up the green, grassy slopes of the hill, tripping over a few bits of rock that had been engraved in the earth for so long and had started to break away from the land altogether. She was chilled to the very bone, the ice cold seeping through her thin clothes, wetting the scratches on her milky white arm and making them nip. Her feet were bare and bleeding, almost too tender to walk on, but Emily continued running and running until she was as far away from the little cottage she lived in as possible.

She had gotten so well-used with her seemingly perfect life, and she had fallen deeper in love than she thought possible. Michael was a wealthy doctor, who had been so sweet and kind to her that she thought he really was 'the one'. Her wedding to him had been the very best day of her life, and she promised herself that she would always remember it and treasure it for as long as she lived. Tears stung her hazel eyes and she closed them tightly, trying her hardest not to cry. She wished that Michael had followed her, and held her tight, begging her not to go or do anything stupid.

Just ten or so minutes before, Michael had told Emily that it was over. He had said he was sorry, but he didn't love her anymore. He had been having an affair with another girl, Lizzie, for months. Emily could still remember the way his kindly features had scrunched up into real pity and regret for what he was doing. His green eyes had misted over with tears and the lines on his forehead had scrunched up. Emily knew that Michael had been close to tears, but somehow he managed to keep his tone free of any emotion.

It had been the end of Emily's world when he confessed that he wanted to end their marriage. She didn't know how she was going to cope without him, as her parents were dead and didn't have any friends she could stay with for a while, just until she got her life back on track. His world was her world, she thought his thoughts and went by his opinion. It was as if she didn't have a mind or a soul of her own without him, she was just a lifeless figure, a ghost of the past and what could have been. She was a puppet, and Michael was the master, pulling all her strings to make her talk and walk, abiding only by his rules.

In the distance, Emily could hear shouting and footsteps, but she couldn't bear to turn around to face Michael. It would hurt too much, knowing that he didn't love or want her, and had only been using her as a stepping stone for the perfect life with Lizzie. She picked to her feet, starting to wish she had at least put shoes on. Running as fast as she could, Emily tripped and stumbled up the hill, dirt, grass and stones sticking to her feet, making them nip and sting like mad.

Eventually Emily found she could run no more. Her legs were tired, her feet bruised and bleeding, too tender to go on any further. Lifting up her skirt a few inches, she sat down on the wet, muddy grass. Looking up at the thin stretch of sky above her, Emily could feel tears coming on. Behind the grey clouds that were threatening to explode and pour down, the sky was colourless. It was if the weather was going by Emily's mood, because as soon as a single tear fell down her pale white cheek, the clouds exploded and the rain began to fall.

Emily couldn't gather enough strength to get up and run to shelter, so she remained in her seated position on the edge of a grassy cliff, letting herself be soaked by the rain. Pretty soon, her glossy chestnut curls were falling down her face, wet and tousled up, her red vest top and black skirt beyond soaking. She felt shivery and weak, and prayed to God that she would find somewhere warm to go. She wished that Michael genuinely loved her as he had said when they made their wedding vows. Her heart was crying out for her to turn and run, to go back to Michael and beg him not to leave her, to try her best to make him love her, but her head was telling - screaming at her to gather up the remains of her pride, keep her head held high and prove to herself that she didn't need him to survive.

Deep down, Emily knew that she could survive without him. Eventually she would meet someone who was right for her, and they would have a great life together. But she didn't want to accept that she wasn't a lovesick teenager and she could get on with her life without Michael Graham. The idea was absurd to her! She had spent the past three years completely devoted to Michael; letting him choose what was best for her, making all her decisions for her. She had grown so well used with not using her own mind that she felt she couldn't possibly run away from him. He controlled her, consumed her. It was as if he was a little boy, and Emily was his favourite toy soldier. The one that he could make do all his commands, because he didn't have a mind of his own to do so. And the one that when he was finished playing with, he would throw to the side and run downstairs for his tea, the toy completely forgotten about.

Emily looked down at the grass and began pulling some blades away from the earth, the way she had done when she was a child. She wished she was still a little girl, playing pretend games with her friends and doing just what her parents told her. She had always lived her life through other people; going by what the others around her said and thought. If her daddy thought someone was a prick: then Emily did too. If her mommy thought the news reporter on TV was good-looking: then Emily did too. If her best friend thought that fifty cents was too little pocket money: Emily agreed with her. If her mommy's magazines told her that you had to be blonde to be beautiful: Emily agreed with it. She had spent the past twenty-four years going by other people's opinions, agreeing with everyone else's thoughts and not caring about what consumed her own mind. And when she met Michael Graham, he became her idol, her own personal thought-machine. He made all the decisions. Whatever he thought, Emily thought too.

She looked down again, and noticed that she was sitting a few meters away from the edge of a cliff. For the first time in twenty-four long years, a thought of her own finally clicked in Emily Louise Graham's mind. If she died, then Michael would feel guilty. Guilty for not loving her, and telling her, in great intimate detail, about him and Lizzie. So guilty that perhaps he would kill himself too, and they would be reunited in heaven together, the perfect couple.

Emily stood up, and pulled her skirt down to a decent length. She winced as the pain in her feet returned, and little droplets of water from her hair slid down her face, making her eye make-up more smudged than it had been. She stood on her tiptoes, as it didn't hurt so much there, and gingerly took a few steps towards the cliff edge. She stopped when she was about three centimeters away, and took a large breath of fresh air. After all, it would be the last taste of the clear Alabama air she would ever experience, so she was going to make the most of it while she still had time.

She closed her eyes tightly and thought of all the people who had helped her in her journey of life, and all the sights she had never got to see. She thought of the lark's song, the snow in the winter, the warm summer sun on her back. She thought of her mom and dad, who were killed in a boating accent just after her nineteenth birthday. She thought of her best friend from childhood, whom she had lost touch with when she married Michael. The taste in her mouth changed to bittersweet when she thought of Michael.


She thought of his touch, his kisses. His warm hands spooning her body, the sighs he made in ecstasy. She recalled the way he had pulled the veil away from her face when they married, the smile on his face, lighting up his warm green eyes and reflecting a new light on his face. She remembered the callous frown on his face when he told her that he was leaving. She opened her eyes for the last time, and took a step towards the edge of the cliff.

She was only a few baby steps away from her death, and her beating heart was the only sound that could be heard for miles. Emily looked around for the last time and took her final step.

As soon as she began falling through the air, she regretted her decision. On the way down, the cliffs that surrounded the wide, open space below spun faster than Emily thought possible. Her legs were spread apart, her arms wide. Her head was tilted backwards, her glistening wet chesnut curls flying out behind her. Her mouth was open and her pretty hazel eyes resembled that of saucers.

Emily looked down below her, and saw nothing but rocks and rivers. If she didn't die from a broken neck on the way down, she would drown when she finally got to the bottom. All her twenty-four years passed by her in the blink of an eye and she remembered everything.

Her first day at elementary school. Her first best friend. Her first fall-out. Her first teacher. Her first test. Her first boyfriend. Her first kiss. Her first heartbreak. Her first cigarette. Her first taste of alcohol. Her first time having sex.

She remembered the way she felt when she was informed of her parents' death. She only ever experienced true happiness after that the day she walked down the aisle to meet Michael. He had made her happy. But he had also ruined her life in the one sentence.

Emily held her head backwards, convinced that it would stop her from falling. Her neck snapped in an instant and she made a choked sound, gasping for breath and air. The blood spun round her body at an unbelievably fast rate, and Emily experienced a whole load of feelings and sensations before the blood flow eventually stopped, and she fell to the ground.

When Emily literally reached rock bottom, she was already dead. Her legs were spread open, her arms wide, her head tilted backwards. Her legs were badly scratched and cut, her feet bare. Her mouth was wide open, spewing a tide of crimson everywhere. If anyone had been looking, they would have swore blind it was murder, that somebody, anybody pushed her. Nobody would be stupid enough to hurl themselves off a cliff.

It was as if Emily was a puppet, and somebody had been pulling her strings.

well, how was it? probably the darkest thing i've ever wrote, & i'm not sure if i like it or not. please leave a review telling me what you think, nice comments & constructive criticism only. any flames will instantly be deleted and reported. (: