The world was cold but her blood was warm. She watched it trickle into the bath, forming little red clouds around her. They drifted downward lazily, darkening the water, and masking her skin behind a sea of redness. She watched the blood flowing from her wrists. They seemed so distant, as if they belonged to someone else. Slowly they poured the dark liquid all around her. Embracing her in her final hour.

 It had been such a simple thing. Two long cuts from one of her father's razors. The blades were very sharp and caused little pain. She had made the cuts deep. This time she wanted the end. This was not going to be like the first time when her hands trembled so much that she could barely break the skin. That time she hadn't been prepared for the pain and shock, and instead spent the night in tears, lamenting her sorrowful failure.

 Tonight it would be different. Tonight was her final night. Her final night of loneliness. Her final night of broken dreams. She had every detail of this night planned. She had practiced it many times. It was her ritual every Saturday night. While her friends and classmates were living, loving and screaming joyously in the city, she would lay motionless in the bath. Thoughts of death filled her mind. They were welcome. Death would take away the pain.

 The night began as her parents left her alone for the evening. They would spend another night at the theater, and afterward at a fancy party. They could never understand her pain, and they never even tried. They thought it was just a phase she was going through and only pretended to care. She waited in her room until she heard them leave. Only then could she completely relax. She breathed deeply, and enjoyed the peace, solitude, and comfort of the empty house.

 The first part of her ritual was to read through her diary. She didn't write in it every day, just those days when she was feeling just wonderful. She almost always wrote about the new boy in her life, how cute he was, what he said to her, where they went out that night, and other things. She never wrote about the breakups or the sad days. She was too depressed to write then. Those were things she did not want to remember. But now she wanted to feel the sadness and the pain again. She read through each part and felt the elation and excitement as hopes and dreams filled her writings. But after each section she would close the diary and remember the bitter endings. She remembered the broken dates, the nights waiting for the phone to ring, the breakup talks, the arguments, the infidelity, the lies, and most of all the heartache. Every hope had met with doom. Every dream had a nightmarish end. She felt her spirits rise higher and come crashing down harder with each memory. It hurt to feel it all again, but it also felt good to her. She did not know why, but the pain brought her peace.

 The final chapter was the hardest of them all. It was about the man which she knew was the one for her. They met when she was in college. He was a few years older. He was so kind and understanding. She'd have days when everything would go wrong and she'd show up at his apartment full of anger. She would be brutal with her language, throwing barbs at everyone and everything including the man she loved. But he would quietly endure her tirades and calm her down gently. He made everything all right once again. She'd have days when she would get hopelessly depressed. She would close herself off in her dorm, not answering the phone or wanting any contact. But he would always show up at her door when she needed him the most. He always knew the right things to do and say to bring her around and make her happy. She wanted to be with him forever.

 She loved him very much, and he loved her, but she wasn't the only woman who loved him. There were other women in his life, women who needed him to make them happy. She knew she was the most important woman in his life, but she was jealous of the others. She was scared that they would find a way to steal him from her and that she would have nothing. So one day she built up the courage and asked him to make a commitment to her. She told him that she wanted to be the only woman in his life, and that he'd have to turn all the others away. She asked him to be his only love. But even before he answered, she knew it was all over. A deep sinking feeling came upon her and she felt the world fall away. She knew he wouldn't be able to say yes to her. He was too kind to turn away from those who needed him. He was too empathetic to ignore the cries of others. She knew she had asked too much. She knew she was being to selfish. She knew he was going to be gone forever.

 She remembered his words so clearly and cried as she recalled them. "I love you very much and my heart is always open to you, but it decides who I love and who I do not. I wish I could give my heart to you alone, but it bleeds for many. I share my body with you only, but my love cannot be contained."

 The magic was gone. She knew the future would no longer be as she had hoped. He was there for her, but she could not love him as deeply as she did before. She was angry that he couldn't love her and her only. His free flowing love was what she loved about him the most, but now she saw it was also causing her pain. She loved him and hated him at the same time. It tore her apart inside. His words comforted her less and less and the world grew colder and colder. She began to run out of reasons to live. She knew that she had ruined her only chance at happiness. Her fate was sealed. She no longer wanted to try again.

 She let the tears flow freely. She did not try to stop herself. She wanted to feel the full depths of her sorrow. Only when the feeling subsided did she continue with her ritual. She put her diary away and opened up her journal. This is where she wrote when she was sad. When the deepest parts of her depression would leave, the urge to write would come upon her and she would put her blackest thoughts to prose. She wrote of her fears, her anxieties, and her lusts for things which she never talked to others about. She turned to the last entry of the journal. The one entitled "My Darkest Desire".

 Her parents were religious, at least when they weren't out all night having fun. Her mother talked of Jesus as if she knew him personally. He was her mother's guardian angel. Her mother loved him more than anyone else and far more than her. It angered her that there were more pictures of Jesus in their house than there were of her. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of the ideal that she could not live up to. She looked at Jesus' image upon the cross, broken down, suffering indescribable pain and bearing all the sins of the world. Her mother talked of Jesus' pain all the time. Every sin that each person commits is another wound for Jesus to bear. Every time she would make a mistake, commit a sin, or do anything her mother didn't like her mother would remind her of all the pain she was bringing down on Jesus Christ. Jesus' pain was all important, but when it came to her pain, her mother couldn't care less.

 She wanted to show her parents what they had done to her. She wanted to make them feel the same pain that she felt all the time. Hers was a loveless world. Instead of the love she needed, her parents brought her only guilt and anxiety. They were killing her and she wanted them to see her die. Maybe then they would finally realize what they had done to her. Maybe then they would finally care.

 Her journal described her final scene. Her parents come home from the evening service wearing their finest Sunday clothes. They walk into the large living room with the high vaulted ceiling. It is dark. Her father calls out to her but there is no answer. Then he turns on the lights. Her parents look upward and see her. Their faces are disfigured with horror and disgust. Their skin turns pale. Their blood runs cold. Towering over them she hangs nailed to a crucifix. Her body is a mass of wounds pouring black blood over her white flesh. Each wound is a cry for love that found nothing but silence. On her head is a crown of thorns. A tribute to all that she accomplished but received no appreciation. She would bear all their sins. She would suffer for all their selfishness. This they did to her, and now they must live with this horrid scene etched forever in their minds. She wanted to be alive when they came home so she could see them writhing before her in such a pitiful state. Her last wish was to hear her mother scream.

 Every Saturday night she would prepare for her bath and pretend to cut her wrists. She dug her fingernail into each arm to get used to the pain. She was careful not to leave a noticeable scar. Then she would take a long bath and slowly drift off to sleep. Often she would dream that she had died. The dreams were always full of peace and bliss. Death welcomed her with open arms.

 Now her final ritual was almost complete. The blood leaving her body made her feel dizzy and tired. She felt all of her pain flowing away. A warm feeling began to come over her body. It was wonderful. Her life, her painful, tortured, nightmarish life was finally leaving her. A feeling of serenity was growing within her, becoming greater with each fading breath. She could think of nothing which felt as good as this. She closed her eyes for the final time. She released her fears and prepared for death. She saw that death was just the opposite of birth. She would be returning to that familiar place from whence she came. She would join once more with the endless night. And as her life slowly slipped away from her, the last thing she heard was her mother's scream.

© Veyanne - 1999