-The Martyr-

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story of a young woman.

Submitted: November 25, 2012

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Submitted: November 25, 2012



Ms.X sat in her room alone. She sat quietly on the edge of her bed dangling her feet just slightly above the ground. She remembered her mother had told her the bed was over 200 years old and had been hand built in the Victorian era.Its four wooden post filled with intricately carved images depicting the French Revolution. But Ms. X wasn't a fan of history her mind had been overcome with the reality of her impending demise.The four walls surrounding her had become her prison echoing her pain back at her. With each word she spoke aloud her heartache was amplified by the fact that she knew no one would ever respond. Today made one week since she had stopped eating. She just wanted to beautiful and now was a good a time as any as she had been planning her suicide to take place tomorrow for weeks now. October 17was the date. She had no logical reason why but she knew in her heart as she stared glossy eyed upon the red and white calendar that this was the day she was meant to leave this earth. She had already purchased her ticket on a train called the afterlife and death was her conductor. It was all perfectly arranged from her outfit a simple white dress with a black bow she had seen on her favorite actress to the brand new razor blade that had not yet graced human skin. She fell asleep that night with a peace that surpassed all understanding. She knew that in the morning all the pain and turmoil that had graced her eyes in her brief 15 years on this earth would be coming to an end so very soon. When she awoke that morning she displayed a strange sense of serenity as she went about her normal daily activities. All that day at school as she was teased and tormented she smiled gracefully with the knowledge that it was all going to be okay that this was the end and that everything was in its right place.

When she arrived home she placed her books on her bed and made her way to the bathroom. She drew the hot water from the old rusty pipes that had been made by an old Irishman decades before her birth. She stared at the water knowing this was going to be her final resting place an aquatic tomb of blood and water. She and her mother had always had what some would say at the very least was a tumultuous relationship but her mother was someone she always respected and held in high regard. So in was some sense of obligation and duty she made her way upstairs to give her mother her final goodbye.

As she walked up the staircase water trickled down to each step dripping slowly which reminded her of her childhood when she would sit at the window and watch the rain fall on the bleak English countryside. But As she progressed forwarded step-by-step the water increased and as she approached her mother's bathroom door and slowly cracked it open she saw a site that forever changed her. She saw her mother lying in a bathtub full of blood. A tub not much unlike the same time one she had chosen for her own grave. Her mothers face seemed to shine like that of an angel with a crooked smile and eyes that pierced through her very being. She stared at the grey corpse for what felt like hours until she noticed a small handwritten note on the side of the marble sink. It was comprised of vowels and syllables smeared with teardrops that had fallen upon the white piece of parchment. It said \"Today is the 15th anniversary of your twin sisters death. I'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner but I didn't have the heart. I have chosen to take my own life because the life that I have lead is no longer worth living. I love you always and forever sincerely Mom.\". And in that moment she could fully comprehend all the pain and anguish that she herself would have caused all those around her to feel. Her world was collapsing around her fast and she felt as though her mother could have never loved her if she was willing to commit such an act. She wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed her mothers hand and whispered in her ear \"I will not give up I will live my live not being a martyr and a victim but as an overcomer and a survivor.\" And with that she walked quietly down the stairs and sat at the edge of her bed knowing that if her mother had the power to taker her own life then she alone had the power to change her own life.

© Copyright 2019 Christopher Walker. All rights reserved.

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