Too Late

Each syllable hurts more than she can bear, the taunting voices damage her more than the knife she drags slowly across her wrist, pain erupting through her heart as the blood spills forth.
Wiping her face with a weakened, wounded hand, blood and tears stain her once smiling face.
Why? Why did it come to this? When did it come to this?
Tears silently streaming down her face, she tries to justify her hasty actions.
Never, not once in her happy, all American life did she imagine she would be here, in her bedroom, tears forming thin wet trails down her clear, pale face, pulling an old, slightly rusted razorblade across her wrist.
Her life flashes before her eyes, not only the hardships but the good times too.
Absently she continues slicing at her wrists, dragging the sharp, foreign metal object again and again across her soft flesh.
Moments pass; moments that turn to seconds and then to minutes, metal carving skin, cutting into her, deeper and deeper, she is no longer aware of the pain, she is too absorbed in reflecting upon her life; the tears, the laughter…

Gasping, she seems to awaken from a delusional, trance-like state.
She notices the warm, thick, dark liquid draining from her wrists.
With the sound of her own laughter ringing in her ears, she suddenly realizes she has made a terrible mistake.
Frantically, she tries to stand; she prepares to slowly stumble into the living room where her older sister sits, prepares to expose her awful blunder to the one she trusts most.
Her attempts are only successful in sending her in a dizzying tumble back onto her beige, carpet floor.
Madly she clutches at the soft carpeting under her body, weakly trying to haul herself to her doorway.
She knows this is hopeless.
She tries yelling for help, only to find her voice has abandoned her in her time of need.
Blood bubbles up from inside her, clogging her throat and filling her mouth with a bitter-sweet copper liquid.
Gagging, she spits the desperately needed fluid onto her flooring, planning to cry for help once more.
A strangled gurgle is all that emerges from her esophagus.
Her head begins to spin. Sparks of colour dart across her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
A sharp, crushing pain rushes throughout her body.

She knows she’s too late. Her fate has been decided, brought upon herself through her own stupid, selfish, rash ideas.
She realizes, in that one moment before all she has ever known is gone from her forever, that she has made a stupid choice.

She is wrong.

She would trade all she owns, every last thing she has, to be here.
To stay here.
To be alive.
To be everything she knows she can be.

But she is too late.
Her fate has been decided.
She is gone, the victim of her own reckless choices.
Just another statistic in a cruel, fucked-up world.
Gone.
Too late.