"A teenager tragically committed suicide last night."

I'd never liked how they'd flash the picture up on the screen. They were always smiling, showing a moment of their seeming happiness. It was there for everyone to see, for everyone to feel. That's what I hated most.

This was one pretty enough, quite pretty as the picture lingered. It was in her eyes though, right there. She smiled, but the motivation lay beneath the surface. Someone could've seen it, if someone had been looking.

I twisted the plastic bracelet around my arm; words up, words down, words up, words down. I needn't look down to see what they said, I'd read them before. Sometimes I wondered why it was needed; the hospital should recognise me by now after all the time I'd spent here.

The news had flipped to another story, something about a dog biting a baby, I wasn't really sure. I was still thinking about the eyes, the eyes that if only someone had just glanced at, they would've seen it all. Everyone around her must've been too busy to look.

I spied my parents stalking down the hall through the open curtains. They walked around here as if everyone was a disease. I was the only disease to them.

"How are you feeling?"

I'd long since learnt to hate that question. "Fine." Many times something about rainbow flamingos or palm-tree eating tables had slipped past in my exasperation.

"With everything?"

"Yes. I'm fine." Flowers that grew porcelain was on the bridge of my tongue.

"The doctor says you won't be able to get out."

"I know Mum." It was true, I had been told. Perhaps they thought it hadn't sunk in the first time.

"We'll say goodbye to her for you darling."

"Thanks." What else could I say?

I was left to myself, slinking down under the covers in solitude. I liked it here, under the white blanket, where no light could get through. It was odd, how something so white, could now be dark.

The sound of the news headlines flitted to my ears.

"Tragic suicide of a teenager."

They were using it to entice people now, get people to listen more to the woes of others. Maybe people liked watching because it made them realise they weren't so bad off. It gave them satisfaction, as they looked at their own perfect children who hadn't killed themselves yet.

I suppose though, that's how that girl's parents had looked at her, as the perfect child. They hadn't suspected anything apparently, they thought their daughter was absolutely fine. It must've been awhile since they saw her eyes.

For the third time that day I heard her mentioned on the news.

"Lisa Maccim tragically took her own life."

I was fiddling with my bracelet again. I looked down, read the words, just to make sure for a moment. When my eyes glanced back up I saw the picture again. The picture with the eyes.

"Parents with a terminally ill daughter."

Yes, they wouldn't of noticed, they were too busy elsewhere. Maybe, if they had realised that the daughter that would live was more important than the one that would die, then they would've looked. But they hadn't. In a week, they may find themselves back at the cemetery, burying the daughter who took their attention. They would cry again, and this time, they wouldn't need to say goodbye for anyone but themselves. It may be on the news again.

"The Maccim's have received a heavy blow after the tragic death of their daughter, just one week after the suicide of their other child."

They would flash the picture up. Maybe, if they choose right, there won't be any hint of pain in the eyes.

I pulled the bracelet from my wrist, I didn't need a reminder of who I was. I didn't need a reminder of who the attention had been turned to.

As the plastic fell to the bin, I caught the last glance of the words written in an inky smudge.

Florence Maccim

But it didn't matter anymore, in a week I would just be a photo on the news.