“Suicidal” Is Such An Ugly Word

Good morning dearest readers! I have yet to understand why mornings are inherently good, but perhaps that is just the sarcastic mood I’ve found myself in this morning. I wanted to thank you all so much for the outstanding reach we’ve gotten with our little blog and I hope that you enjoy this one. Whipped it together pretty fast, so it’s a bit rough. You could say it’s born of my nightmares which have been frequent as of late. 

The doctors were all so sure that they could cure her. Red pills, blue pills, white pills, they made no difference. The doctors scratched their heads, consulting their charts and their thick, million-dollar medical textbooks, their highly regarded college education offering them not a speck of insight on this mysterious girl.

Alice Day, read her file. Age 13. Her prescription chart was a mile long with regular therapy sessions, though the psych ward thought it might be best to keep her away from the other patients, at least for the time being. The nurses spoke to her in hushed voices, and more often than naught, left her quarters trembling or shaking their heads in sympathy for the poor insane girl in room 113, who was young enough to be their daughter.

“Everyone thinks Death is so mean,” she said to her therapist at their next session. “Grim and and clothed in black with a wicked scythe, you know?”

“Of course,” the therapist said, her voice soothing though inwardly, she trembled as she watched the conviction sparking in her patient’s eyes.

“But he’s not like that,” Alice said quietly, her eyes lit up and her mouth curved into a small smile. She gripped the side of her chair and leaned forward, staring intently at her therapist.”He’s a big flirt, you know. He always invites me to go dancing, but he always asks if I want to stay with him. Forever, you know? But forever is a big deal so I always say no, but we dance the line until I don’t know which way is up or down and all I can do is move forward. I get a glimpse of the other side every once in a while, his gift to me. It’s bright there, heaven’s light or hell’s fire, what difference does it make? Whatever it is, it looks like a sweet oblivion.” She leaned back in her chair, slightly breathless, watching her therapist make small marks on her paper, her pen scratching across the rough grain was the only noise that filled the room.

‘So,” the therapist said, leaning forward with the slightest of hesitation. “Have these … delusions lessened with the medicine Dr. Marc added?” Alice sneered, folding her hands into lap.

“They aren’t delusions, miss.” Alice said, staring at her lap before moving. She stood and walked over to her therapist’s desk, leaning on it and staring at her. “You’ll meet him someday to, except he won’t be as nice to you as he is to me.” She said, her voice lifting into a strange fluidity of language. Her therapist sighed and wrote something else down.

“But suicidal is such an ugly word,” Alice said, her voice tinged with sadness as she stared at the upside down letters on her therapist’s clipboard. “It’s not my fault. I told you already that Death is a flirt. What am I supposed to do? Ignore him? That would just make him mad.”

“I think that you should try to ignore him,” her therapist said slowly. “That might make him leave you alone so you can move on in your life.” Her therapist swallowed once, her words tasting bitter in her mouth. She hated encouraging her patient’s delusions, but she believed that this was the best course of action. Alice frowned, folding her hands back into her lap.

“What if I don’t want him to go?” She asked, her voice small as she gazed up from between her thick eyelashes. Her blue eyes shined prettily. “He’s nice to me. He’s the only one who treats me like a human around here.”

“He’s not real,” her therapist said soothingly. Alice frowned, considering, before her eyes hardened, her tiny hands curling into fists.

“He is to.” She insisted, her voice low as her eyes flashed dangerously. “He’s coming for me, it’s time for us to go dancing again.”

“Tell him no,” her therapist suggested, the corners of her mouth tugging downward into a frown. “You can’t let this control your life.”

“Life, living,” Alice said disgusted. “What a waste of a glorious existence.”

“Alice,” her therapist said, vaguely frustrated. “Death exists, but not in a tangible form. This is merely something conjured up from your brain and you can beat it, if you would just work with me-”

“Beat me? Ah, I hate to correct you, dear lady, but no one can beat me.” A voice said smoothly. Alice grinned widely as her therapist jerked in fear.

“You came!” Alice said delightedly, her face lighting up.

“Of couse, dearest. I wouldn’t miss our dances for the world.” A quiet thud interrupted their sparse conversation. Alice looked over to see her therapist on the floor, clutching at her heart. Death grinned, twining his fingers around a gorgeous gossamer soul.

“Oh dear,” Alice said quietly, watching the soul with fascination.

“She always did have a weak heart,” Death said fondly, tucking the soul into his pocket before extending his hand. “Ready to dance, love?”

“Of course,” Alice said, taking his hand.

“She was right you know,” Death said, nodding his head towards Alice’s therapist. “You really shouldn’t flirt with Death.”

“Suicidal is such an ugly word,” Alice murmered back, her eyes half closed. “Besides, why waste such a glorious existence with something as mundane as living?”

 

Fin.

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Kalsooni

Hey! Kalsooni Allskye here, sometimes known as Cattydragon. To introduce myself ... I'm generally a very sarcastic person prone to sudden musings in the middle of dull conversations as well as that mad dash for some paper and pen when a sudden idea hits. I enjoy a great deal of music and reading, but I don't so much enjoy social outing. So there you go! A bit 'bout me.

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