Her death

She looks around the room as if to seek comfort from someone or something that would never come to her rescue. She gasps for breath knowing that she would be taking her last at any moment. Tears stream down her face as she thinks of all the people that will have to endure the agony of losing her. Her eyes narrow as the spill of blood soaks the carpet made crimson by her decision. The bitter-sweet, self-inflicted misery is almost too much for her broken body that knows no defense against the harsh suffering holding her hostage. So intense is the seemingly everlasting discomfort her slow-dying body receives as she trembles more violently than ever before. She clenches her fists in anger as she moans in agony, praying, "God! Kill me faster!" She closes her eyes as tight as she can, her teeth clamped down just as tight. Taking one last paralyzing breath, her body goes numb, as cold as the people who made her do this. Her wishes are finally fulfilled as she leaves the world that caused so much pain and the world is no longer her home. In just a few simple words written on a blood-stained sheet of paper, pinned to her chest by the knife that took her life, she tells for the final time of her loneliness. She says, "Do you understand now? Now that it's too late?" That's what the note said. And they'll never tell. They'll blame themselves as they should ... and they'll never tell of the tragedy of her death. To hide their shame, to hide their guilt, to hide their cold-hearted carelessness, they'll never tell of her death.