Edge of Sanity

Edge of Sanity

A.N. I'm not to pleased with this
actually. It's rather short as well. But regardless of that, enjoy.

She had gotten blood on the carpet.

            So
pristine. So beautiful. The dripping beads of crimson liquid saturating that
glorious white carpet. Blood was the life. Life was the blood. Scattered on the
thick carpet in a beautiful kaleidoscope of crimson and snow.

            Her mother
would surely be angry.

            The stain
spread now, the various dots connecting to create an obscure circle of pure
deep red. She wondered briefly what her mother's priest would say.

            Suicide was
equal to hell and damnation.

            Thou
shalt not be gluttous, as he stuffed himself full of rich food and dressed
in silk suits from Italy.

            Teach
tolerance but have none, was the way of it.

            If she were
going to hell, surely she would see a familiar face or two down there.

            The blood dripped
a bit faster now, spreading, ever widening that beautiful pool of life on that
untainted carpet. She felt it flow, ebbing from her veins, depleting her soul.
Strength would have been leaving her, should have been leaving her, but she had
lost that precious commodity long ago.

            How would
it be without her, she wondered, gazing wistfully at the large ominous oak tree
that stood outside her window. Would he ever be able to forgive himself for
what he had done to her? Such a precious thing, the heart. So strong, so
continuous, yet so very easy to shatter with a simple word or two. Giving
herself to him, loving him, fuck, the only two things she could never regret.

            Except that
in the end he had hurt her.

            They always
hurt her.

            Gingerly,
she sat on the floor, allowing herself to lie back gently on the soft carpet.
Her arms naked, the material or the floor brushed against her skin, giving her
that age-old feeling of security, of serenity. Even now, as the carpet eagerly
took her life force, lapping greedily from her open wounds, she found herself
close to completeness, to sincere euphoria. But she had always felt that way,
on this carpet of hope, of blessings, of sex, of broken dreams, of death.

            Time was
fading, her breathing shallow and irregular. Her mind drifted back to that oak
tree outside her window, so beautiful and strong. So much stronger then she
ever could have been. She remembered falling from a thick branch in her youth,
breaking her arm and leaving her with a cast. A bright orange cast that hurt
her sensitive eyes decorated with seemingly hundreds of signatures of people
wishing her to get well. She could count her friends with that cast, each one
marked by a distinctive color and signature. Lacey with the pink pen, the
millions of hearts. Diana with the blue ink, block letters, and jagged Z's.
They had rushed to her aid when she had broken her arm; more anxious to have
their names permanently etched on the cast then any real affection for her. How
many would come to her funeral now, she wondered?

            Not a one.

            Not a one.

            She was
alone.

            A tear fell
down her cheek, the first of many she knew. In the end she would go out crying.
It was what her father had told her after all. She was weak, pathetic, and she
would go out in a pathetic manner. Pathetic death for a pathetic daughter. The
daughter had never been enough. Her college degrees hung on the wall, the only
things she had ever really been proud of. But even now, they were worthless.

            Pathetic
degrees for a pathetic daughter.

            She laughed
suddenly, a gurgling noise, as she remembered she had not flushed the toilet
after her last binge. Bulimia. Such a nasty word for so beautiful a thing. So
bad for her heart, but as long as she fit into her jeans, what did it matter?
She was going to die anyway, was dieing already, and it didn't seem like such a
bad thing. What would God be like, she wondered? Would she meet him at those
proverbial golden gates? Or would those fat priests be right and she suffer
eternity in hell?

            Eternity.
Such a long time.

            She'd
rather be dead then suffer another more on this earth.

            She saw the
knife resting near her side, so long, so pristine, silver flashes tinted with
crimson. Her mother's favorite butcher knife.

            Think of
me now mom, every time you cut through something. Know the very instrument you
hold in your hand, I used to end this life of mine. Your favorite knife.
Tainted with my blood. My dirty body. My dirty, filthy skin. Favorite knife on
your pathetic daughter.

            Her
breathing slowed, her body now depleted of more blood then it could ever
restore on its own. She saw a blackness looming over her, the urge to close her
eyes, to sleep.

            Sleep
forever.

            A chill
breeze swept through the open window, filling her senses one last time with
that autumn scent she had always adored. So beautiful. So pure.

            They found
her with a smile on her once beautiful face.

            Serenity at
last.