It was the midnight of December the 18th when 17 year old Sophie Margeurite decided to kill herself. She had arranged 15 sleeping pills in a line across her footboard at the base of her brass bed- Ambien. She had heard it would do the trick without pain. She liked that, because she knew she couldn't take anymore pain.
Her black hair fell down past her shoulders as she lowered her head, big sloppy tears falling from her chimaera eyes. They were brown with speckles of green and amber; pretty, sure. But she hadn't gotten many compliments on them as of yet.
Her skin was pale and freckled, which contrasted greatly against the bloody cuts on her wrists. A razor lay on her nightstand- just one of the many she possessed. She wore a black wife beater that did a horrible job at covering her scratched breasts, and dark yoga pants that were too big for her, reaching past her feet. The purple comforter in which she sat was ruffled and wet with blood and tears, covering the already present stains of each bodily fluid.
Though Sophie's still, heaving body was a frightening sight, she knew that it compared not with how her heart looked. She had imagined over and over it scared and bleeding even more freely than her wrists were then, with stitches and bandaids plastered over the red surface from her past attempts at healing it. Her soul, she mused, was probably just as injured.
She stole another look at the sleeping pills lined like a trail of ants on her brass footboard, triggering more tears. How did it come to this? she thought, but didn't dare reach for the memories that brought her to the state she was in. There was no need for more pain.
She swept the pills into her palm, and shoved them all at once into her mouth. She held them on her tongue for a moment, her mind racing. She glanced at the pulsing Lava Lamp that sat next to the razor on her nightstand. She breathed out, and swallowed the pills.
Sophie gagged as the hard objected fell down her throat, coughing to ease it. She felt her eyes begin to feel heavy as the Ambien took effect, and she lay down on her feather pillow, pulling out her cell phone. There were 19 unread text messages all from a single contact. She opened one, and read the letters carefully.
Sophie, you are scaring the hell out of me. Answer you're texts!
She felt more tears slip from her swollen eyes. Cautiously, she thumbed the words out for a reply.
I'm sorry, but this is goodbye. I love you.
With a press of a button, she sent the message and then turned off her phone. She covered herself with her purple comforter, feeling the drugs so heavily now she could hardly move. Not a moment later, she was passed out.