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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
About a girl who doesnt realise the consequence of her actions untill its too late. The last few hours of her life, and how she doesnt realise things do matter. Not everything is as simple as it first seems.

Submitted: April 10, 2007

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Submitted: April 10, 2007




The dull drone of the alarm sounded. Breaking June from the far off dreams of happiness concocted with in the troubled mind she called her own. Lying lifeless amongst the knotted mess of her freshly blood drenched bed sheets, the crimson red had stained her usually pearly white hands, and neck. The alarm continued to pollute the room with its unnatural man made noises, but its sounds went unnoticed by her. All that June heard was the faint persistence of white noise that echoed through out the empty house. She had to stand up, but found herself trapped in the illusion all this was but a bad dream. Though her hazel eyes remained clenched shut tightly, shielded form the harsh rays of sun light that pierced through the gaps of the blinds, June could still picture the horror of reality she would see as soon as she gave in to the alarms persistence. The consequences of what she had done last night ran through her mind, the throbbing cuts on her throat pulsated wildly as she tried to think of how to make this right. But all June could see was what she had done to herself, and how she had given in to the urge. She now understood how it was addictive, and how she no longer had control over the knife once its cold metal surface pressed against her skin.

Eyes still shut, June carefully placed one foot on the cold wooden floor boards below her. She had stepped straight into a pool of thinning blood. It was almost cold and had seeped through the delicate cracks of the wood. June didn’t dare open her eyes, maybe it was water? She thought, trying to tell herself this wasn’t happening again. Placing the other foot a fair distance form the other, in hope not to find more blood, Junes eyes wrenched open suddenly against her will, she realized that though she had her feet a fair length apart, the blood had still spilled all across the floor. She sprung form the comfort of the damp mattress, and into the vibrant stream of blood that spread across the once brassy coloured floor boards. June jerked her head around the room, panicking, as she tried to see anything to remind her of, why?

The phone rang abruptly. June stepped carefully through the puddles of her blood as she tried to reach it, grasping her neck trying to control the aching pain that traveled across the still open cuts. The ringing of the phone meshed with the alarm and everything seemed to become just a wave of meaningless noise, June grew dizzy, everything fluctuated wildly, as though she was on a type of rollercoaster. Finding it hard to stand, her boney legs trembled. June fell to the floor the room as the room continued to sway, all she could see was a haze of crimson red. It stung her eyes. She lay lifeless on the floor, amongst the mess of her own existence, praying that everything would stop, that she would stop. But June had been praying for this for what seemed like a life time, where as in reality it had only been the last few months. But then again, a few months can be a life time. The phone stopped ringing, but a message started to record over the static of the old answering machine.

“Hey June its me, like obviously who else would be calling, I’m gonna be working all day, so I’ll see you at like I don’t know… umm well I have to close so probably like eight, but then Mark is taking me out later so about actually you will be in bed by the time I get home, so I’ll just say goodnight now, okay well later honey.” The recording stopped, and June felt a wave of relief pass through her.

Her sister Terry wouldn’t be home today, so she had time to clean up the mess of the blood and go by some new foundation to cover the cuts. This was perfect. Except she had missed school yesterday and it would be suspicious to have no note for being absent two days. Maybe she could just say she had to visit the councilor. This was a good excuse for June to use, and she took advantage of it perhaps a bit too often. Both of her parents had died at the start of the year, by suicide, and everyone was always extra sympathetic to her now.

June lived with her only sister Terry. Terry looked after her since their parent’s death. She was twenty one. She was a pretty girl, with a fair completion and wavy dark brown hair that came down to about her waist. She always dressed very elegantly and had a classic style, unlike any other of the people who lived in their neighborhood. June had always been jealous of her sister, the way people respected her, the way everyone liked her, but most of all June idolized her for her strong sense of resiliency. Terry seemed to move on so easily after their parents’ suicide. She just picked up her life, and was always grateful for still having June. Of course this always made June feel guilty for not being able to cope, and for hurting herself when she knew her sister loved her. But it was hard not to give in to the cold blade of a knife when she thought of how her parents had died, and how she and her sister had been so oblivious to their obvious depression. June had always wanted to ask Terry if she knew anything about how unhappy they were, but always felt out of place bring up such a grim topic with some one who seemed so happy.


June glanced up at the clock having regained her bearings, it was half past eight, and she had to wait at least till ten before she could leave the house. June had learnt the perfect times and ways to skip school with out being caught. Her school started at around nine, so of course leaving for the shops at nine ran the risk of running into kids that were late. Ten was the perfect hour of the day, the few tired security guards who roam the shops are on their coffee break at about eleven, and it took just under an hour to walk. So she stood up slowly and made her way to the bathroom, to get a sponge. As she walked June realized she was leaving foot prints of blood along the creamy white carpet in the hall way.

“Shit!” she cursed, angry that she hadn’t thought to wipe her feet first.

June raised her palm and whacked herself hard on the side of her already bruised face. She walked back to her bedroom and into the sea of blood that covered the floor, and grabbed her towel. Sitting in the hall way June wiped her feet, swearing at herself as she did so. ‘I must look like suck an idiot’ she thought, tears gathering in her eyes. She chocked then back, determined to try and make things seem normal. But as she just collected herself and continued her way to the bathroom, the door bell sounded loudly through out the empty house. June froze, who would come round in the morning with out calling? But as she hesitated down the stairs, trying not to make noise as she stumbled down, the door bell rang again, and this time twice in a row. It must be a friend if they are ringing so persistently, June thought to herself, nervous as to whom it was and if she would have to open the door to them, revealing her cuts. June peered through the window; it was her friend Christy who lived a few doors down, they often walked to the bus stop together. June grabbed a scarf that hung form the hat rack beside her, but the scarf was caught in a muddle of other things. So instead June opened the door with out hesitation, and placed her hair over her neck, covering any inch of skin.

“Hey Christy, what’s up?” June greeted casually.

“Nothing much, it’s just you weren’t at school yesterday and I was wondering if you were going today and…” Christy stopped; she had noticed the blood on June’s pajamas.

“Yeah I’m sick, and when ever I’m sick… I like to drink cranberry juice, and I spilt It.” improvised June, trying not to look anxious.

“O…kay… well I have to go, if anyone asks ill say your sick then. Bye.” Christy ran off, practically falling down the stairs.

June slammed the door shut quickly, she shuffled over to the window and saw Christy running off, her died blond plats flicking behind her as her shirt blew part way up in the warm breeze. Christy was a bit of a slut, she thought her plats made her look innocent and cute, but really they just made her look as cheap as the thin pale blue hair ties that held them in place. June had never really liked her, Christy was to fake for her liking and had always reminded June of a call girl, the type that you would see lingering about the city at night with dark eye shadow and lip stick the fake blood red colour kids lather them selves up with on Halloween. One time June was even sure she had seen Christy messing about with their maths teacher Mr. Newington, but later remembered that he looked like a dead tree stump that never grew back, only with thick black framed glasses, and realized not even Christy wouldn’t stoop that low.

June climbed back up the creaking stair case, the off white paint chipped off as she dragged her blood stained hand up it. Moving into the bathroom feebly, still dizzy from before, June stumbled onto the slippery blue tiles that covered the bathroom floor. She reached for the sunken yellow sponge that sat contently next to the bar of worn down soap. June’s unsteady boney legs wobbled, like the unsteady voice of a child in trouble at primary school. She collapsed to the ledge of the bath, griping to the smooth surface in hope of finding support. She had always been a cuter, but had never slit her throat before. Fear swelled up inside her, had she finally gone to deep?

June didn’t know what to do, how to fix it. What if she died, and by suicide, Terry would be heartbroken. Her thoughts blurred into one, becoming but lost leaves caught up in a storm. June grew dizzier, the room once again spun around, but this time it didn’t stop, she stopped. Her head swung back, and with an echoing thud, June fell into the empty, cold, hard bath tub. To June it was as though she had fallen asleep, all she saw was her parents.


The next morning Terry’s keys jingled in the lock as she hummed to herself, a broad smile spread across her face. She had stayed at her boyfriend Mark’s last and this always put her in a good mood. It made terry feel like she could one day start a new family of her own and maybe be a mother, better then her own.

“June sweetie, I’m hoooome!!” Terry giggled as she elongated the syllables of her cheery words.

Waiting for a reply from her sister, terry skipped into the kitchen, in hope to find June there. But all Terry saw was an empty room, and no note to say June had gone out. Thinking nothing of it Terry made her way upstairs.

“Juuuune” she repeated in a silly voice.

But still there was no reply. Terry walked from room to room of the big empty house calling out for June in a silly big bad wolf voice. She finally made it to the end of the corridor and opened the bathroom door with a loud roar. Suddenly Terry’s world came crashing down and the smile was wiped off her usually happy face. June was dead. And so was everything Terry had ever cared about.

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