There was a girl, only thirteen. She made a deal with life. If she could have friends and people who loved her, she would have to feel pain. She promised to tell no one, not a soul. It was fine the first few months. But after the fourth month, she started to get tired. Not your average tired, not just a little bit, but very tired. She was on the edge of sleeping every minute of the day. Because every night the demons came. They kept her awake and restless, leaving wet stains down her cheeks. A few months later, the girl was still tired, but now the demons stayed with her. They clung to her in the thin little lines they made. Nobody asked her what was wrong. She hid behind a smile. After all, she had promised life not to tell. Life could see she was breaking down. It was never meant to go this far. So life gave her three chances. Three chances to live. Exactly one month later, the girl used up one of her chances. Her first one was killed by a knife. But life took it away before she had stabbed. The demons’ claws scratched deeper into her skin. She could barely keep her eyes open now. But still, nobody asked what was wrong and she told nobody. After all, she had promised life not to tell. A week later, the girl still had the taste of death in her mouth, the feel of the knife pressed against her skin. She craved more of it. It had tasted so beautiful, felt so good to be so close to freedom, to be relieved of the pain. So she wasted her second chance on a gun. Seconds before she pulled the trigger, life slowly lowered the gun from her head. And she continued on. Nobody asked her what was wrong and she told nobody. After all, she promised life not to tell. She hid behind a thin smile now; it was really only a line. One person noticed. The person asked her how she was feeling. She said “I’m fine” and that was that. Life couldn’t stand to see her like this, so tired, so alone. So Life sent her a therapist. Things seemed to get better for a little while. Yet nobody noticed what was under her shirt. The demons had made it to her stomach. After every meal, they pushed her food back up. Now ribs were showing, her legs were sticks. The demons’ scratches were deeper than ever. One night, sitting in the bathroom, they gently brought her the rope. They caressed her through the hole, told her it would be okay. And she jumped. Moments before life could catch her, she hit the floor. And Death welcomed her with open arms.
I Promise Not To Tell
July 30, 2017