Short Stories

The Death of a Girl

She’s been up for days with no end in sight. She can’t sleep, she can’t eat, wondering if she might be right.

She got so depressed looking back on her life. Here she is older, much older, and here she is yielding a knife.

Life should have been better, it shouldn’t  be  over. Wondering why she was so unlucky, where is her four leaf clover.

Enduring the betrayal of people that she had felt great love. Wondering if she would fly high in the sky and become a pretty white dove.

SarahRichterArt / Pixabay

She listened to the criticism all her life, wondering if it would ever mend. The criticism continued even following her to the end.

She reached out to  people around her, but they were so busy that they paid no attention. Her sadness had become too much and no one cared, it wasn’t even worth the mention.

The depression had gotten worse, the thought of her children didn’t matter no more; she began to wonder if they would be better off, because she had wanted something more.

She had tried all her life to make the pain go away, but it just become worse. Her life had been torturous, meaningless, almost like a curse.

She sat there alone, in the middle of the night, crying until she would cry no more. Thinking of all the bad things and how she couldn’t handle them, her life had become too much of a chore.

She took a breath, took it right out, took another breath and things began to swirl. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, for she had no life. The only life she had was the death of a girl.

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