Alissity the Nellin

Count to three

Perched on the overpass, gazing down below
At the cars, the vans, the buses and the trucks,
Is a girl.
Her brown, wavy locks fluttering in the wind;
Her hazel orbs fearing the unknown but swirling with certainty;
Her manicured hands clutching to the metal;
Her wrists covered in thin scabs from the blades;
Her sneakered feet trembling and hesitant;
Dreading the fall yet longing the fall,
Awaiting the moment.

Inhale, exhale,
Inhale, exhale.
Count to three.

One.

Two.

“Don’t.”

She turns.

A scythe thumps on the concrete.
The blinding city lights fade,
The symphony of honks dissolve.
They are alone.
The hooded darkness approaches, stopping at the wire fence.
Nothing can be seen beneath the hood,
But she feels the eyes.
The eyes on her.

“It is not your time.”

A swoosh and the girl is in the kitchen.
It is morning.
She spectates.
Mother prepares breakfast, mixing the batter,
And sneaks in chocolate chips,
Knowing it is her daughter’s favourite.
She knows about the name-calling.
She knows about the taunts.
She knows about the sticky notes on the locker.
She knows about the hurt, she knows.
She knows.
And she tries to make things better.
She sets the pancakes on the table just as her young son bounces into the kitchen,
And he is asked to wake his sister up.
Mother is excited to spill the beans,
The beans that mean she will be transferred,
The beans that mean she will get to start a clean slate.

There is a scream.
Mother rushes to the sound, to her daughter’s bathroom,
Where on the floor, her beloved firstborn lies,
Blood dripping from cut after cut on her wrists,
Draining the life out of her, and
Draining the blood out of her mother’s face.
Knees buckle.
A mother’s warm hand reaches for her daughter’s,
Clasping it,
Squeezing it,
Feeling for any hint of warmth, any sign of life.
It sets in.
Echoes of wracking sob
After sob,
After sob,
As a mother mourns for the loss
Of the life she created.

The scene disappears, transporting the girl back
Into the void.
Tears stream down the young girl’s face,
As dark gloved hands aid her climb back over the wire fence,
Then
The darkness disappears,
Bringing the girl into the light.
She lives.


She lives.