Almost Paradise

Author\'s note: This is a piece I submitted four years ago for my GCSE Original Writing Coursework when I was 15.
Warnings for moderate language, suicide and one graphic description of self-harm.

"Leave me alone!"

Even when Tasia was outnumbered and knew there was no way she could win, she still remained defiant. The five of them closed in on her and Tasia found herself pushed up against the hard cold wall behind her. Then the panic finally set in.

"Help!" she yelled, "Somebody"¦"

Her piercing call for help was cut off abruptly. She turned her head to the right to distance herself from the blonde ringleader, and her eyes widened as she saw me standing at the other end of the alley. Although no sound came out of her mouth, her eyes cried out to me to help her. But I remained where I was. A fist swung back and hit Tasia in the stomach. Tasia gasped and doubled over. She fell to the floor with the next blow, and her cries of pain reached my ears. Yet somehow, I heard her unmistakable cry to me,

"Lil, help me!"

Yet I stood still

A while passed, and eventually the ringleader stepped away from Tasia's fallen body. She looked up towards the end of the alley, and saw me standing there dumbly. Leaning forward, she whispered something in Tasia's ear, something which made Tasia look away and the rest of the gang laugh. A slight tilt of the blonde's head and she walked down the other end of the alleyway, her gang following her, all of them still laughing.

Tasia raised her head and looked at me. Despite the pain I knew she was in, she managed to stand and edge along the wall towards me.

"Why?"

I gave no answer, but simply looked at Tasia's injuries. There was a shallow cut on her left cheek and her lip was split. Apart from that, her face had been left untouched. There were numerous bruises and cuts dotted along her arms and legs and she was clutching her stomach.

"Why didn't you help me?" she repeated.

I couldn't stand it any longer and I turned and ran away.

There was a flash of white light and I was standing in front of the door to Tasia's room. Even before I pushed open the door I knew what I would find. Yet still I knocked twice on the wooden door. There was no answer and a cold feeling of dread rushes down my spine as I tentatively opened the door. Her room was cloaked in darkness, the lights off and the curtains drawn. I had been in Tasia\'s room so often that I easily made my way in the darkness to her window. I drew open the curtains and surveyed the view. The house was on the edge of our village and her room faced the long, bare fields, and beyond them, the cold, dark woods. When we were younger we had been scared to enter the wood, but that had been a long time ago when all we had to fear were imaginary monsters and dragons. Taking a deep breath I turned round. It took me a while to take in what I saw before me, and even longer to make sense of it. Only a moment before, I had been looking at a beautiful scene bathed in sunlight, and now I was staring at a shocking and horrifying view bathed in the same golden sunlight.

Tasia lay on her bed, one arm above her head, the other by her side. She was perfectly still and it was only then that I noticed all the blood. It covered her wrists and arms, and lying on the bed next to her was a black-handled, silver-bladed knife. The blade was covered in blood; Tasia\'s blood.

"No! Oh please no"¦"

The sound was so small in the silent room that I doubted I'd said anything at all. I couldn't stand it any longer, and for the second time in a week, I turned and ran away. I ran away from that silent room, away from Tasia\'s unmoving body, away from my own conscience.

There had been no one else in the house and I eventually slowed down to a walk as I reached the woods. I wondered how long it would be before somebody returned home and discovered Tasia. And then how long it would be before my phone rang and I heard a voice on the other end telling me that Tasia was dead. I found a group of trees that we had used to play in as children. I huddled behind a tree trunk and tried to dream of dragons and princesses imprisoned in tall towers who were always rescued by princes on pure white horses. But the only thing I dreamt about was Tasia pushing my head under a bath full of her blood. I could feel her hands on me, leaving sticky, bloody handprints over my soul.

"Lily, get up now! I won't tell you again!"

I lay in bed, not moving, just staring up at the ceiling as I thought about my dream. The dream is like a flashback, ensuring that I can never forget what I did. I've had it every night since I committed that dreadful deed. Today was Tasia\'s birthday, or it would be if she was still alive; which meant that in a few days it would be the first anniversary of her death. I'm still quite calm about it, I guess it still hasn't sunk in.

I get up and get ready for school; doing the same things I do everyday. I get dressed in the same things I wear to school: white shirt, black trousers, tie; and then I wander downstairs for my breakfast. I have the same breakfast I have everyday: a slice of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice. Then I return to my bedroom and listen to the same radio station I listen to every morning as I brush my hair, pack my school bag and apply my make-up. Then I go and brush my teeth using the same toothbrush and toothpaste I use everyday. I leave the house at the same time and catch the same bus. I sit in the same seat I sit in everyday and at the same point I move my bag so that my friend, Kerry can sit by me. She doesn't live in the same village as I do, but everyday she still gets on at the same stop and we talk about the same things we always talk about. Then, as the bus pulls into our school, we get off at the same place and walk the same way to our form room, which is the same form room we've had since the start of year 10. I open the door and as usual we go and sit next to the same friends we sit with everyday. Elly and Liz are sitting in the same they sit every morning and we all start talking about the same things we always talk about, and as usual I only listen with one ear. Today looks like it's going to be the same as every other Monday. I'll go to the same lessons I go to every Monday and in the lessons we'll learn about the same topics we learnt about last week, and the week before that. I find myself wishing for something different to happen, something out of the ordinary. Then I see her. She's walking past the history rooms and she turns and looks straight at me. Then she's gone. I spend the rest of my day in a daze, not listening to anything anyone says to me.

The next day my routine is exactly the same was it was yesterday. And, at the same time as yesterday, I see her, in the same place as yesterday. I feel a slight rush of panic as I realise that she's becoming like everything else in my life: monotonous. Then she's gone again, but this time if feels as though there's a pounding in my head and it's going to explode. But I don't even dare blink in case I miss her. However, I don't see her again anyway and Tuesday carries on as usual.

On Wednesday I see her again, but this time she remains where she is and just stands there, looking at me. I slowly walk to the door and step out into the cold December air. As I near the history rooms she turns and walks away. I walk after her, quickening my pace to try and catch her. She turns a corner and I start to run, but by the time I get there, the quad is deserted and she's gone. I slowly go back to the form room; I know there's no use looking for her. She won't be there.

The next day, I'm waiting ready by the history, even though I know she won't let me catch her, not until tomorrow; then she'll wait and I'll finally have a chance to explain everything. I wait past the time she's normally here and it isn't until I look out towards my form room that I see her. She's standing in front of the door and as she catches my eye, she knocks twice on the door, in exactly the same way that I had. She tentatively pushes open the door and goes in. I feel a familiar cold feeling of dread rush down my spine as I start to walk towards the form room. I can see her through the window and I begin to run as she looks out at the sunlight bathing the cold, dark woods next to my village. She pushes the blinds open fully and turns back to the occupants in the room. I finally reach the door and enter the room breathless, only to find her gone and my friends looking at me as if I've gone mad.

"Did a girl just come in here?"

"No." Elly answers quickly.

"Are you sure? She looks like me"¦"

Kerry stands up and comes over to me. She places her hands firmly on my arms and smiles at me.

"Are you ok Lil? You've been acting really weird these past few days."

I said nothing. She smiled at me again, but there was no warmth in it, none of the kindness I normally saw in her. For a second I considered telling her that tomorrow was Tasia's anniversary, but then I realised that she still wouldn't understand, she'd never met Tasia, had never met the other half of my soul. Of course she knew what had happened to Tasia; everyone did after my head teacher gave an assembly about "˜that poor girl at the other school'.

It was then that I knew what I had to do.

"Lil?"

Kerry was still there.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Just a headache."

I could tell from her face that she didn't believe me. However, I faked a headache and got sent home. I let Mum fuss over me for a while, and then went to bed. In my room I found some paper and wrote a letter. A letter to Tasia:

Dear Tasia,

Do you ever get that feeling like you're being left behind? I do. It's like I want to slow down and think about stuff, but I can't; because I know I shouldn't be thinking things like that. Sometimes I just want to scream and it feels like I'm going to explode with everything that's building up inside me. It's then that I think about you.

I do think about you. I know you probably don't believe that, but I do. Your smile; your laugh; the stories you used to tell me when I couldn't sleep because of a nightmare. There aren't any stories now that can soothe me from this nightmare, it's never ending and always will be until I tell you I'm sorry. Its funny, you know "“ whenever I think about you it's always your smile that I remember. I don't remember the blood; the tears; the bad times. I guess I've blocked all that out, tried to pretend it never happened, that I wasn't there. But we both know I was. It's all come back to haunt me now though. I almost can't believe it: tomorrow's the 14th of December. It's almost a year since, you know, it happened. It's a year ago and I still can't say it.

I thought I was going to get through this week alright. I manage to hide it inside every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year that's passed. A year. It sounds like such a short time doesn't it? But it's been so long for me. I think I've spent most of it staring out the window, staring through the invisible glass that separates me and the world. I always imagine that it's better out there, that if I could only get out there it would be fine and all the pain, frustration, anger and guilt building up inside me would disappear. But then I open the door and step out into the cold, unforgiving world and I realise that it'll always be like this. Nothing will ever change. I can deal the with pain; I can deal with the frustration; I can even deal with the anger; but I can't cope with this guilt and this loneliness.

I think the loneliness is where you used to be. Now I have all this spare time on my hands and I don't know what to do with it. I just sit there, staring into space until there's nothing left. It feels like there's a pendulum swinging in my head, but with every swing it slows down, just a tiny, tiny bit until soon it'll stop swinging all together. What happens then I wonder? I asked someone that once but they didn't understand. How could they? No one understands me, apart from you. No one knows me, apart from you. They don't know what I'm going through, how could they? How could anyone possibly know what I'm going through?

I am sorry, really, I am. I know that's hard for you to accept, especially after everything I've done, but I am. You wouldn't believe all the tears I've cried. I've cried a tear for every drop of blood you lost. Did it hurt? Or did you just feel happy that it was over? Did you enjoy it? Or could you not watch as your blood welled up over the blade and trickled down your arm? I'm so sorry. I've never admitted it before. I've never told anyone, not even Kerry, about what really happened; in fact I don't think I've talked to them about you since it happened.. It's not that I was ashamed of you, but it was hard for me too you know. Actually, how could you know? You weren't standing there, you didn't see what was coming like I did. You don't have to live with this terrible pain, this aching inside you. Everyday I see how it could have bee different if only I'd said "No". "˜No', that simple world. "˜No', that single syllable. "˜No'. One syllable, that's all. "˜No'. I say it out loud, "No". Then I think of all the difference it would have made and my throat goes dry. No. I don't want to think about the difference it would have made; the different it would have made. The difference it would have made if only I'd said it to that gang. No. No, it doesn't make any difference, not now anyway.

Why have you come back? It's like your name, your full name: Anastasia. It means resurrection in Greek, that's what you used to tell me all the time. You used to love your name, though you didn't like using the full version, you preferred going by Tasia. I guess my name now reflects what I am: a ghost. Since you've been gone, I've just felt like a ghost, like I'm not really living. I can't live without you; it's like living without my soul. I know you've come back to show me something, but what? Are you trying to get me to admit what I did? Because I am truly sorry, you have to believe me. Is that it? Is that what you want? Are you happy now? Will you just disappear from my life again? I don't want that, I need you here with me everyday.

Please rest in peace Tasia,

All my love,

Lilith.


I stop writing and just look at my letter. It's not over yet; I still have to take it to her. That's for tomorrow though. I put the letter away and go to bed. It'll be a long day tomorrow.

I stay at home on Friday, though I don't need to fake being ill this time. Mum doesn't even come to wake me up; she's grieving for the mistake I made, the word I didn't say, the actions I didn't take. When the house is silent, I get up and get dressed in a black top Tasia gave me last year for my birthday and a pair of black trousers Tasia always used to borrow off me. I'm alone now and that's the way it has to be. The cemetery where Tasia is buried is just down our road, although I've never visited her grave since the funeral lest I break down and confess my sins to everyone. Anyway, visiting where she's supposedly buried would be like I'm admitting she's dead, and I know she isn't really, I keep seeing her so she can't be dead. I pick up the letter and walk downstairs. For once, my head is clear from all the noise and pounding that's normally going on inside it. I'm just calm and focused. I go into the kitchen and remove a black kitchen knife out of the holder. The wicked silver blade glints in the light and I carefully wrap it in my jacket along with the letter. Then I leave the house. I don't bother taking my keys, I won't be coming back.

I walk purposefully down the road and round the corner to the cemetery. For a minute I stand outside, just looking in and the rows of graves. They look so still and foreboding and I feel a slight twinge of anxiety as I wonder if I can go through with this. My hand closes around the letter, and I know inside I can. I enter the graveyard and it takes me a few minutes to find Tasia's grave. There are fresh flowers in front of the stone. I touch the engraving on the front. They've used her full name. I sink to my knees and place the letter in front of the stone. I've put it in a plastic wallet, and I have to weigh it down with some stones and dirt. As I do, I feel the first tear prick my eye and roll down my cheek. It's the first tear and it will be the last. I've done all my crying. The graveyard is deserted and any other buildings around here and out of sight behind the hill. I unwrap the knife and hold it in front of me, studying it. Then I take a deep breath and touch it to my skin. I draw it slowly across my wrist, pressing down hard, and it digs deep. For a moment there is nothing and I can see the edges of my skin pulling apart from each other. Then, like the eruption of a volcano, deep red blood swells up and spills down my wrist. I look at the knife again. The once so shiny blade has now got a coating of red on it. Blood. My blood. I close my eyes briefly and when I open them again I place the knife over my vein and cut deep. Again and again until it seems like I've been doing this forever, that there was never a time when I was trying to free the monster inside me. Again and again until my wrist is a bloody mess and I can't distinguish any of the cuts from the sticky mess of blood. Then, my hand shaking, I do the same to my other wrist. I can't describe what I feel. It's like a mixture of disgust as what I'm doing and satisfaction that I'm doing it; I'm escaping from this overwhelming guilt.

"I'm coming Tasia." I whisper.

Then it hits me. What am I doing? I'm standing on her grave. This isn't right; this isn't how it's supposed to be. The knife falls out of my hand as, for the third and final time, I turn and run away from her.

The clouds have darkened and rain is falling and blinding my vision, yet I'm sure I see her, standing by the exit. I stumble towards her, but she walks out and away from me. I follow her out of the cemetery and I see her, standing on the other side of the road. I'm determined not to lose her again but she walks away in the opposite direction and, without thinking, I follow her unquestionably. I don't even feel the car as it hits me; I don't even register that I've been hit until I fall to the cold, wet road. The traffic around me stops and I see her, standing by my side, looking down on me just like I looked at her unmoving body on her bed. Then, as my vision blurs and starts to fade, I finally understand. It was never Tasia's ghost that I was seeing, it was me. It was the shadow of all the lies I told.