All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
End Of The Road
That look. It was that look that pushed me over. That look of disgust, of abhorrence, of revulsion. It cut me to the core, like a knife straight through the gut. Their whispers followed me home; the wind carried their voices behind me, quietly screaming in my ear.
The house seemed empty when I arrived home. My brother’s shouting matches were dulled out; my mother’s calls from the kitchen were muffled; my dad’s attempt at small talk didn’t register. The stabbing from inside me seemed to create a blur over the rest of the world. My vision faltered and I stumbled as I made my way up the stairs, towards the open door of my room.
Downstairs my parents glanced at each other quickly. “Just leave her,” my dad quietly muttered. “Just another mood, probably.” Just as mum reached for the oven mitt, I reached for my pen.
Hands shaking, my words made soft etches in the paper, scribbles barely legible. They formed my last month of torment, my last week of distress, my last day of agony. They filled pages; when my hand cramped still I did not stop. All my emotion lay exposed on that page; my entire store of logic had deserted me long before.
The rumor had spread like a spark to dry grass. Within days there was no one at school who hadn’t heard the events of my weekend. Those who were there told it. Those who heard it exaggerated it. Those who saw me pointed me out. And those who caught my eye made me know how much of a slut I was in their mind. Whilst I was lessened as a person, he was adulated. He was exalted by all except the other girl. He had been with her for what seemed like forever, and went straight back to her afterwards. I was given the blame for his flirting’s, blamed for luring him towards me, whilst he played the perfect guy without a fault.
Back in my room, the sun having long left the sky, I was overcome with dejection; I choked on my feelings as they came up into my throat. My tears smudged the words on the page as they fell, black ink soaking through the book. I couldn’t breathe; I had to get out. I tore out the blotchy pages and folded them into an envelope. Placing it on my bedside table, I picked up the box that lay next to the lamp. Stuffing it into my pocket, I edged my door open slowly. The stairs didn’t creak as my weight shifted from one step to another; even to the house I was worthless.
My mum nudged my dad awake, just as the back door slid shut. “I can’t sleep; my mind doesn’t want to shut off.” Dad stroked her hair as he softly laughed.
“Have you tried counting sheep?”
My feet were clumsy and stumbled over the path as I ran. My face was wet with tears as they kept flowing, an endless waterfall of emotion. My legs gave out and my hands hit the ground hard. The scrapes oozed fragments of blood and disjointed skin. I fumbled in my pocket as I broke down in new pain, my lungs struggling with my cries for air. The box fell out onto the path, the end bursting open. I pulled the silver packets open as my salty tears fell like rain, unwanted and unstoppable. Popping the drugs out, my eyes landed on the warning label: Do not over consume; death may occur. I hesitated momentarily before a dagger ripped my insides apart. I swallowed the white capsules…1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10… 11… 12… Deserting the packet on the ground, I stood and stumbled forwards.
The roundabout was only a few steps away; my feet hit the tarmac and my vision failed. My body hit the ground again, but this time I couldn’t feel it. The pain from inside of me devoured the rest of the world; nothing could cease the fire burning me alive from the inside. I rolled onto my back; my head resting on my shoulder, my eyes fixing on the ground. I noticed the trail of ants scurrying across the tarmac. I noticed the child’s shoe that had been dropped at the crossing. I noticed the slight tremor that began in the ground. The vibrations built on each other; each one more distinct than the last. The sound came quickly, out of nowhere, and filled the streets. Headlights danced over my head, the brightness of it illuminating the world. One last look of disgust flittered through my mind, one last wrench at my heart, one last stab in the gut, one last breath. One last second of shame.
Screeching sirens, blaring lights. Screams from outside awoke them. Dragging on dressing gowns, the family wandered outside, met by a distraught neighbor come to comfort them. She took both the parents aside momentarily, before the mother’s painful screams attracted the boys. The mother pulled free of their grasps and ran, her gown flowing behind her. She reached the roundabout and dropped to her knees, quickly joined by her husband. The ground was stained red, shining in the light from the street. Her pain-filled wails reached every ear; everyone stopped and turned. An ambulance officer picked her up by the shoulders and led her away towards the flashing van. Her screams and cries were the only sound; the entire world had stopped.
The flowers came in their hundreds, each bunch placed carefully in the centre of the roundabout. They were left by everyone; the teenage boy who wandered over was riddled with guilt, just like the rest of the girl’s school peers. The girl’s parents moved away quickly; the roundabout was rarely used by anyone. The girl’s pain had left her, but it now resided within everyone who knew her.
Her mother looked for signs, but none came.
Her father looked for answers, but didn’t get the ones he wanted.
Her peers looked for forgiveness, but there was no one to provide it.
Her brothers looked for their sister, but she was gone.