It's going to rain soon. I sit on a swinging chair, watching the sky flicker with white streaks of lightning. Younger me would have been terrified, of this sight but I'm not that girl anymore.
If you asked me now, I'd tell you it's beautiful.
I wonder what would happen if lightning struck me. Would I die instantly? Or would I feel every nerve in my body burn before I faded away? Probably the latter. It'd be painful. Too painful.
I'm not afraid of dying—just the pain.
People always look at me weird when I say that. As if I've said something shocking, something I shouldn't have. But what's the point of being scared of something inevitable? Why fight what will eventually come for us all? I'd rather embrace it.
Tap, tap, tap.
The wind howls, and the first drops of rain kiss my skin. It's light at first, then it becomes heavier, soaking through my clothes within minutes. I swing gently, back and forth, letting the rain drench me completely. There's no need to seek shelter. I have nowhere to go.
I haven't been home for days, and nobody has looked for me.
Not my parents. Not my so-called friends. Not a single person.
I pull out my MP3 player, connect my earpiece, and plug it in. Music floods my ears, drowning out the sound of raindrops against the pavement. It's calming in a way nothing else is. The lyrics, the melody—they hold me together when everything else is slipping away.
I close my eyes, ready to disappear into the music, when suddenly, the rain stops.
At first, I think the storm has passed, but when I open my eyes, I see it—an umbrella hovering over me. A black umbrella.
I blink up at it, trying to make out who's holding it, but I can't see his face. Only the umbrella and his lower body are visible.
"Who are you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
No answer.
Instead, he does something unexpected.
He drops the umbrella and walks away.
Just like that.
I watch his back as he disappears into the distance, trying to make sense of it. Who is he? Why did he do that?
Water drips from my bangs into my eyes, blurring my vision. Forget it. If he doesn't want to be known, then I won't try to know him.
I stand from the swing, gripping his umbrella in my hand. With music blasting in my ears, I step into the rain.
This is, by far, the best day I've had in a long time.
A stranger showed me kindness—on my last day in this world.
I can't remember the last time someone cared about me. Maybe that's because no one ever did. I could go missing for years, and no one would notice.
The rain begins to slow, and the sky grows darker. It's almost nighttime.
The streets are empty. I haven't seen a single soul since I started walking.
Everyone is probably at home, curled up under warm blankets, eating dinner with their families. Laughing. Talking. Existing together.
Oh, how I wish that could be me.
I sigh deeply as I approach my destination—my place of doom and damnation.
The place where my horror started. And the place where it will end.
'Kings and Queens High School.'
I climb over the tall fence guarding the school. The main entrance is locked at this hour, and I can't risk being seen.
With a soft thump, I land inside.
Yeah. This God-forsaken school.
I walk down the empty hallways, my footsteps echoing through the silence. Memories claw at me from every corner. The whispered rumors. The laughter behind my back. The cruel words carved into my desk.
"Freak."
"Ugly girl."
"Big forehead."
"Nobody would care if you disappeared."
I make my way to my classroom—soon to be my ex-classroom.
Reaching into my locker, I pull out everything I own. My uniform. My books. Pictures of me and the people I once called friends.
I carry them to a corner of the room and set them on fire.
I watch as the flames devour every trace of my existence, turning my memories to ash. If it wouldn't be painful, I would burn with them too. But I can't handle much pain.
Once the fire dies out, I grab a marker and scribble my name on the blackened wall.
"Farewell, old me."
I won't miss this place. Not even a little bit.
I walk to the art studio and grab a neon pink spray paint can. Before I go, I should leave something behind.
Carefully, avoiding the CCTV cameras, I spray-paint the words:
"BRITTANY WAS HERE."
When I'm done, I head to the rooftop.
My final destination.
This rooftop holds so many memories. I have cried alone here countless times. It's only fitting that this is where my sorrow ends.
A strong breeze blows against me, making me shiver. My body is still wet, and the cold bites into my skin. But I won't fret—it'll all be over soon.
Another gust of wind scatters my hair, exposing my forehead. Without thinking, I cover it.
No one is here, but I can hear Clara's voice, laughing at me, mocking me just like she always did.
She's not here. It's all in my head.
I sit on the edge of the rooftop, swinging my legs back and forth.
"It's not that far," I think as I stare at the ground below.
I love you, Brittany.
I don't mean to do this to you, I promise. But this world is too difficult to live in. I'm afraid I can no longer endure it.
Maybe in my next life, I'll be born into a loving family. Maybe I won't have to be insecure about my forehead or the way I look.
Maybe I'll have the courage to stand up for myself.
Maybe I'll protect others, too.
Maybe I'll finally be happy.
I pick up my spray paint and write:
"BRITTANY WAS HERE."
"THE HIERARCHY NEEDS TO STOP."
I close my eyes and say a prayer.
Then I let myself fall.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
A scream—loud, piercing—cuts through the night.
For a split second, I wonder who it belongs to.
But before I can make sense of it—
My world turns black.