Page 99 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

I slide down the front of the long since cooled car hood and pause, looking back once at the house I spent years of my life secluded in. I hope someone destroys it when I’m gone. I hope whoever owns it next tears it to shreds and rebuilds something else. I know it’s not the house itself that makes me hate it, but what happened inside of it. Still, I can’t imagine anyone raising kids in a house that tortured one. I turn away and pop the driver’s side door of the BMW, sliding inside and restarting the car.

The light from the sun fades faster as I drive down the dark familiar roads, taking them slowly. I roll down the windows and sit in silence as the wind fills the interior. When it’s time to pull off, I park the BMW a little further back than I ever had the Buick. It feels silly, but I didn’t give a shit about wrecking the undercarriage of the Buick. Luc’s BMW is nice though; I don’t want to get it too dirty and the closer the tracks are, the muddier the ground will become.

I leave the keys in the ignition, hoping no one will come through and steal it before Luc is able to have someone track it down. As I start the long walk towards the train track bridge, my thoughts consume me.

I am a collection of things. Rather than a person with a soul, I’ve found that what I am, inside, is merely objects. Like someone found an empty exterior of an unfinished doll and stuffed it full of things before trying to play with it.

They didn’t even consider what they put inside. There’s no soft stuffing, no carefully stitched fake heart. Instead, all I am is shards of broken glass that are too sharp and little bits and pieces of forgotten parts. My insides are harmful, not cute. The broken pieces cut me, digging into this shell of mine, ripping it open in little tears at a time.

I don’t blame anyone for my emotions, for my choices. Not my mother. Not Luc. Everything I did, I did by my own hand. This too. It seems inevitable that I would end up here. What’s more surprising to me, though, is that I don’t feel scared.

My heart isn’t racing. My palms aren’t sweating. I just feel … numb.

Night encroaches. Clouds shift overhead. It grows darker and darker as I walk. Until there’s no light left save for the minuscule moonlight peeking out from overhead.

I walk carefully along the creaky planks of metal and wood, the old tracks groaning under my slight weight as if just the smallest bit of pressure hurts them. Years ago, I brought Avalon here, one of my only friends. I remember the night clearly; despite the alcohol and weed that had been in my system, I remember this place. I remember the very moment I realized exactly how I’d die.

Right here.

I stop and turn towards the open ravine in the darkness below. Above my head, clouds shift and move—parting to allow the smallest of moon rays to pierce down to the empty space below. The sound of rushing water reaches my ears. A light misting of rain touches my face. It’s not enough to soak through my hair or do much more than drop the temperature. Still, I tilt my head back to the sky and open my mouth.

The liquid touches my tongue, collecting as it slides toward the back of my throat. It’s refreshing. It’s clean—unlike me.

I’m tired. The kind of tired that seeps past muscle and bone and takes up residence inside one’s soul. No amount of praying can fix it. No amount of ignoring it can make it go away. I did it. I accomplished my goal. The world is a safer place, but I’m no hero. There’s no turning back the clock and reversing my actions or the actions of others.

I don’t want to think anymore, and more than anything else in this world, I don’t want to taint the ones I love with this darkness in me. An unconscious laugh bubbles up out of my throat. As I think about Luc, more tears form. They fill me up from the inside, burning my eyes until I can’t hardly see shit. My head’s full of him. My chest tight with emotion.

I’m so fucking glad he doesn’t know. Though I’m sure he suspected my thoughts, he never pressed for more than I was willing to give him. If he only knew that this was always my plan, he would’ve locked me up. He would’ve convinced me that this didn’t need to be my end.

But this isn’t a movie. This isn’t the story of someone powerful and strong, and despite what Luc would have me believe, I’m no queen. I’m just as bad as those I’ve killed.

What’s funny is that, now that I’m here, I realize that paradox of my existence.

I don’twantto die. That’s what a lot of people don’t understand about suicide. No one truly wants to die. At least, most people don’t. We just—Ijust … don’t want to exist anymore. Because without existence, there’s no pain.

Breathing hurts. Keeping our own hearts beating is like laying in a vat of acid and telling ourselves that someday, it’ll get better. It feels absolutely hopeless most days. And the only thing that gives me any sort of peace is the thought that soon, it won’t matter anymore. I’ll leave this world and I’ll have done something good in the process; I’ll have rid it of the incredibly heartless and vile creatures that tortured me while I was alive.

And Luc … my chest aches at the thought of him. He’ll be okay. He’s strong. He’ll survive. He’ll live for her. For our sister.

There will be no more reminders of what I’ve done. No more memories. No more anything. It will be as if none of it ever happened. I’ll stop thinking. I’ll stop feeling. There won’t be guilt anymore because I won’tbeanymore.

The ravine calls to me. Silent and dark below. I grip one of the metal bars above my head and lean towards the edge. One more step and it’s all over. I suck in a breath and close my eyes.

Micki.I flinch. Fuck. I haven’t even stepped off the edge yet and Luc’s voice is filling my head. It’s angry. Of course it is. I’m sure it’s just the lingering of hesitation. The thoughts of ‘what if’ hovering in my periphery. What if I just went back? What if I gave it a shot? What if I didn’t die? What would happen then? Of all times for my own internal thoughts to try and stop me.

I shake myself and inch closer.

Micki, don’t you dare!

I scowl to myself.It’s too late,I tell myself.

“Micki!” I pause as I lift a foot and arch it over the open ledge. That … wasn’t in my head.

Horror descends as I turn my cheek and see a bobbing flashlight—more than one—sprinting towards me. No. No, he can’t be here.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Luc screams. “Micki! Please!”

My head jerks to the open air. No. I suck in a quick breath. It really is too late. I can’t let him stop me. It’s over. I need to give him peace. I need to release him from me. He’ll cling to me if I let him. He’ll try to convince me that I shouldn’t do what I know would be the easiest path for me. The light draws closer. I can hear his panting breaths. The bridge shakes as he hits it. The old wood and metal creaking and swaying with the heaviness of his running.

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