Jacket on, keys in hand, and knife in pocket. I left without much fanfare. I stopped in the bathroom to check my reflection and make sure I didn't look like what I was about to do. I snorted a laugh, because I looked like death already and I hadn't even made it outside. I zipped up the jacket, laughing a second time hysterically because I had chosen a "Slipknot" hoodie with a "Slipknot" shirt. Maybe I should get my beanie, too? No. Media would blame my little happy accident on rock music. Stupid fucking Media.
And so I began walking. So many options, so little time. I checked off my list. No, not that one. Messy. No, not this one. Too easily caught. Not enough pills left. Too public. Not guaranteed to be successful. You get the picture. I decided to jump because I'd be unable to chicken out once my feet left the ledge. But for some reason... I began running the opposite direction. I went towards the railroad tracks and the quiet, calm, damp darkness of the woods. I ran until my lungs burned, then continued walking until I couldn't hear anymore cars. It was dark. The only light coming from the houses obscured by thick, black trees. A ditch on either side of the tracks, one filled with water and the other with rocks, I knelt down and cried.
The torrent of tears released had been like no other. It hurt to cry and my face burned from the constant wiping. I was angry. At the world, at myself, at those stupid plastic things at the end of shoelaces. Angry. After anger, came guilt. With guilt, I pulled out my knife and cut furiously at my wrist. The pain pulled me into a dream haze as thick as the blood that came oozing from my newest scar. Guilt, followed by pain, followed by... just a cold, wet, numbness. I realized the temperature had dropped at that it was late.
I looked towards the darkness, and there was something there. A light? I put my hand against the metal, the cold, damp, dirty metal. It vibrated and my heart skipped a beat. How far had I gone out? Past the houses. Past the Mill where the tracks split. Past the creepy, second intersection. How long had I been out here? An hour? When did I leave? My heart nearly exploded, kicking into well over 130 beats per minute. I realized. That's a fucking 120-240 ton train headed towards me. The horn confirmed my suspicions, since my motor skills hadn't caught up to my brain and heart yet. I stood, watching it come closer. First instinct? Move the fuck out of it's way. Second thought? No... Stay. Its the end. Twenty feet, Fifteen Feet, Ten Feet. I closed my eyes and steeled myself against pain. I was going to do it. Finish it. End it. Whatever.
It never came. Instead, I was yanked sideways and off the tracks. I tumbled, elbow hitting a rock. I looked up, fumbling for my knife as the train roared past me. Hands pulled me back away from the tracks, a harsh "What the Hell, Morisa!?" snapping my head around to see who the fuck just ruined my tragedy.
My breath caught in my throat and I struggled. Not because I wanted to climb back onto the tracks and finish what I started, but because the man holding me couldn't very well be. He was dead. He had shot himself not even a month earlier, leaving me as I was planning to leave my life: suddenly and without goodbye. Dead men don't pull you to safety from your death moments before it happens. I was shocked, I was taken aback. I wondered if the train did in fact hit me, and this was my fate: tortured by ghosts of dead friends? I opened my mouth to speak, but he spoke first.
He spoke. He touched. I heard. I felt. He was there. He was solid, living and breathing. Solid. You're not done, Morisa. You still have far too much to do. Go home, Morisa. Justin needs you. Go back to the Man that loves you.
With that, he was gone. The pressure of his grip on my arm faded and I sat there in the gravel wondering. I was convinced I was crazy, muttering to myself as I limped back to the College. I stumbled over the tracks like a thrall, replaying it over and over in my head like a skipping record. I was in shock and disbelief. Slowly it began to sink in, and I cried. I cried, walking back to my room on the second floor. I cried in the bathroom, washing the dirt from my cut and face. I realized... Only a few seconds more, I would have been dead.