"Not to sound like a melodramatic attentionwhore, but this is the end of someone who never existed, figuratively speaking. To the people who I wish I wasn't related to; Time to find someone else who you can torture, I quit.

To my natural bad luck: See above.

To the hyenas; Thank you for making those agonizing high school years so much worse. Talk about kicking someone when they're down. Given my home situation, I was an easy target for bullies and you managed to sniff me out as one and naturally took advantage of it.

To Tycho; Thank you for occasionally alleviating the burden of being me, if only temorarily.

To the Deathangel: You're finally getting rid of me for good. You may now breathe a sigh… or many sighs of relief.

Hasta la vista life"

She'd considered using her own blood as ink, but she'd finally decided to stick with the green marker pen, since her blood most likely wasn't green, no matter how toxic it might be (she hoped). She'd borrowed her mother's wedding gown. A dress that her sister would never get a chance to wear on her wedding day. A dress that would look like an ivory-canvas covered in scarlet stains after she was through with it.

Wide eyes of an anime character hiding behind a thin curtain of straight jet-black hair.

She hated it when she popped up in her mind whenever she thought of him. The thoughts of him were always accompanied by her, the perfect one (she couldn't refer to her by her real name, not even in her thoughts, it was as if her defense mechanisms stopped her name from entering into her flow of thoughts), in one way or another. The perfect one was the real girl whom he'd once loved so deeply before her heart, which belonged to him, had stopped beating. He'd mourned her for months, maybe even years. He'd replayed sorrowful, heart-pinching songs during all those sleepless nights after she'd ended her life. He had wanted to end his life too.

Ivy on the other hand, the imperfect one, had just been a time-killer. Misery loves company after all. Any passably attractive girl would've been good enough. She had thought that she was special. She had been under the impression that he had chosen her for her unique way of expressing herself and her quirky sense of humor. He'd tossed her aside a couple of months ago, as if she had an expiration date. Claimed that he was too busy to talk. She could sense the smell of lies. She'd wondered what she'd done wrong. Was she becoming too emotional? Too clingy? Why was he suddenly becoming so cold towards her? Treating her even less than a friend. Being indifferent to her existence. She had dwelled on it for months. Held on to false hope. Tried to change herself. Making herself appear even more jovial, witty, humorous and carefree. Like a friend with benefits, no strings attached. Nothing worked. He still wouldn't have her.

The only boy who'd returned her love, or so she'd thought, had gotten tired of her. She could never measure up to the dead girl in the coffin.

Even a lifeless corpse has got more game than you. Jeez.

It all became too much. She stormed out of Mrs Crest's bedroom (she refused to call that wicked, black-hearted witch "mother") with all too familiar tears streaming down her face.

Strawberry ice cream, cashew nuts, pretzels, peaches, pizza leftovers and rice pudding. It'll all end up in the same place anyway. She wolfed it down with her bare hands. Soft and harmless food. Something that could fill up the aching hole inside of her.

She placed five pills on her palm and reached for the wine bottle. She clumsily spilled half of it on the witch's beautiful dress. She washed them down without a second thought, with trained decision.

Next stop; The kitchen knife station. There will be blood. She hauled herself over to the kitchen counter where the sharp objects were waiting for her, pressing her hand against her bloated stomach that felt as if it was about to rupture any minute.

She caught sight of her own reflection. A pale ghost with mascara running down her hollow cheeks and ice cream smeared all over her face, wearing the expression of a child who'd been caught doing a naughty deed, stared back at her. How did I…? I used to be pretty…

She didn't need to stick her fingers down her throat. The reflection made her nauseous enough. She raced for the bathroom, but wasn't fast enough. She shrieked in horror as she slipped on her own vomit and fell on her back. Stars and fireworks were dancing in front of her eyes. A sudden drowsiness overcame her. The sleeping pills were kicking in. If I'm lucky enough, I'll choke on my own vomit.


The witch was not pacing back and forth. The witch was not even sitting there, staring apathetically into the wall in stunned silence, with waves of grief radiating from her. The witch never showed up.

The bleached blonde barbie girl came, along with the wandering armani suit and their impeccable offspring in tow. They all looked so misplaced in a hospital environment.

She watched them from above as they circled around the family doctor, like hyenas. Her field of vision had become cloudy, as if she was watching everything from afar through a foggy window. Her field of vision narrowed and eventually turned black.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting in one of the apple green chairs in the waiting room. Blackout, was her first thought. But no, it would've been a too simple explanation.

"Did your mother have you as a teenager, if you don't mind me asking?" a voice uttered out of nowhere.

"Sally isn't my mother" she responded airily, without giving it any thought at first, before she finally realized that she didn't know who she was conversing with.

"Who's there!?" her eyes widened in surprise as she frantically looked around to find out where the voice came from.

"A potential friend" the voice came from one of the low window sills which had been occupied by a skinny figure dressed in a simple, oversized white t-shirt and skinny grey jeans.

The voice belonged to a girl with a long, dark brown pony tail who wore a knitted red scarf around her neck, in the middle of july. She looked like she was about the same age as Ivy.

"You'd have to actually be able to stand me in order to be my friend" she responded dejectedly, shooting a sullen look in the opposite direction of the windowsill.

"That's sort of easy when you've spent almost 3,650 days in solitude" the girl responded in a dreamy voice, staring out the window and making the shape of a heart symbol with her bony index finger on the window.

"Does my potential friend have a name?"

The girl seemed to contemplate whether or not she should reveal her name, before she finally made a decision and uttered "Hedwig" with a pained expression in her face, as if the name was causing her discomfort.

"Yuck! What did you do to deserve such a hideously ancient name?" she exclaimed without thinking twice, before it was too late to smooth over her inconsiderate mistake. Her eyes widened in horror as she mumbled "Sorry" behind her hand.

"I was born" she said in a voice that dripped with resentment, as she stared straight into the wall opposite of her, with narrowed eyes. She didn't seem to take offense, but it was clear that her had mood shifted from dreamy and almost eerily tranquil to resentful and angry to the point of coming off as…hateful?

"Huh?" Ivy raised one of her high arched eyebrows quizzically.

"I'm the product of rape, in other words; unwanted and hated. My mother made sure that I knew that, and my grandmother made sure to confirm it…over and over again" Hedwig explained in a monotone voice.

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes boggled in surprise. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Some people's likeability and future, were set in stone even before birth, in one way or another.

"Sorry to hear"

"Oh, but of course you are" her otherwise so frail and distant voice grew in strength and dripped with sarcasm. Her face darkened. She jumped down from the windowsill with the flexibility of a cat. The sudden and drastic change in her tone of voice and behavior made Ivy wince. Hedwig was walking towards her with an almost murderous look in her eyes. This girl makes my skin crawl, she thought to herself.

Just as she thought that Hedwig was going to attack her like a rabid animal and tear her to pieces or something along those lines, she took a seat right beside her and the dark and tense atmosphere was as good as gone.

"I bet you look at me differently now" she sighed dejectedly as she took out a small ball of limegreen yarn and started knitting with the same dreamy and disconnected expression on her face that she had earlier.

"I haven't even had the time to form an impression of you" Ivy chuckled in astonishment and added "Exactly how long ago did we meet? Two minutes ago?"

When Hedwig didn't react and remained stubbornly silent, not taking her eyes from the yarn, she took the opportunity to ask her what she had wanted to know ever since they'd started talking.

"So, what exactly are we doing here?" she inquired and eyed the waiting room up and down, from side to side. Apart from herself and the strange girl Hedwig, the waiting room was occupied by at least twelve other people. A heavily pregnant teenager entered the room with her parents (presumably) in tow.

Were they able to save me after all? she thought to herself and scratched her head absentmindedly.

"We are not anywhere" Hedwig corrected her with a content smile on her peculiarly blue tinted, deathly pale face "You are in the middle of nowhere" she spoke in a shrill voice and threw her hands up in the air. Her eyes were narrowed into eerie black slits from all the smiling.

The next thing that happened could've easily been taken from a fantasy movie.

"Goodbye nameless!" Hedwig half-sang merrily, putting aside her knitting and waved cheerfully at her with both hands. The next thing she knew, the chair was empty. The odd girl with the old-fashioned name had vanished into thin air.

Nobody was even looking in their direction, in spite of Hedwig's odd and confusing behavior and rapid mood swings.

This feels like middle school all over again, she thought to herself, bitterly and tried blocking all of the repressed and painful memories that struggled their way up to the surface. Lonely girl sitting hidden from the shadows beneath an oak tree, trying to keep out of her tormentors' way. Isn't that always how the story goes? But her story had darker undertones, of course. Her stories always did.

"Hello!" she approached a nurse who was walking towards the exit, holding a pack of cigarettes in her hand, most likely in order to have a smoke before her short break was over. What is it with hospital staff and hypocrisy? The nurse didn't even shoot a single glance at her direction.

Why wasn't anyone paying any attention to her? She felt even more invisible than usual.

A horde of surgeons carrying a spinal board with a blood drenched man strapped on it, rushed past her. She stared fixedly at the overflow of blood dripping from the spinal board onto the hospital floor.

"Excuse me!?" she finally hollered after them. The initial feeling that something wasn't quite right, had grown into a full-blown panic attack.

Determined to get their attention once and for all, she climbed up onto one of the apple green chairs and shouted with all the power and volume that she could muster "The last thing I remember is that I took a shitload of pills right before I passed out. So can someone please tell me why I'm not lying in a hospital bed like a beached whale while the doctors are stomach pumping me like crazy? Anyone!?"

No reaction. Barely no one looked at her, and the ones who did, looked right through her. That's when it hit her. Something went awfully wrong during the suicide attempt.