Over The Borderline (Closed)
Sept 26, 2013 21:37:48 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2013 21:37:48 GMT -5
Trigger Warning! Suicidal thoughts and self-destructive behavior
She had been asleep all night the previous night and all day today. Though when Brooke finally awoke, it was in complete silence, her eyes opening with barely a flutter. She rose with a slow, fluid movement, the only sound being the rustle of her comforter sliding off of her slim frame and folding on top of itself. Her hair fell down across her shoulder and over the bare skin of her chest covered only by a thin, green, spaghetti-string halter. The warm air that had been trapped underneath the comforter had escaped, leaving the shifter's bare arms and legs prickling with goosebumps. If Brooke shifted into her fur, she could be warm as toast again.
She didn't.
In bare feet, black hipster shorts, and that thin halter, Brooke stood and walked to her window calmly and smoothly, like a ghost.
Heh. Ghosts.
She slid open the windowpane fully open, struggling slightly when it became stuck on itself. The darned window hadn't been working properly for years. However, for just as long, where there should have been a screen, there was none. Brooke grasped hold of the frame and placed one foot with red-painted toes upon the sill, pulling and pushing herself up with one quick heave. The air outside was even colder than in her room. Vermont was quickly getting a visit from the season of fall. Brooke liked the fall.
She turned to stand on her toes, gripping the window frame for support, then reached out with one foot to a bracket that was holding up the gutter pipe and hefted herself up quickly to grasp the edge of the roofing with the tips of her fingers. Brooke was frozen like that for a second as she crawled those fingertips into a better grip and gradually pulled herself up. Once both feet were planted safely on the roof of the dorms, she looked down behind her.
Four floors up. Hard ground below.
She briefly wondered what her body might look like if it fell from this height. Would it go splat? Would her soft innards be spilled out over the concrete and grass? Would she even survive?
She wondered how she would look to someone else if they were watching. As she passed by a window. How her hair would fly up, how her shirt would ripple in the wind.
What might go through her head in the few seconds it took before she landed?
Would there be regret? Would she feel fear?
Brooke had climbed to the top of the pitched roof and walked along the narrow edge, holding her arms out like a gymnast. She didn’t really need it. The cat in her gave her the balance she needed to not fall…
She never fell.
The wind picked up and she reached the edge again. With her arms still outstretched, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the chilling breeze blowing across her skin, rustling her hair into a mad frenzy. Her balance never wavered.
She never fell.
If she did somehow slip one day, would it be considered an accident? But since she came up there willingly with the hopes of somehow missing a step, would it have been on purpose? Heaven didn’t accept those who took their own life….
Brooke leaned against the edge of her bed, staring up at the space where the wall met the ceiling.
It was so white.
She twitched her fingers and felt the edge of the red-handled shears she had stolen from the art room a few months back. Red was a pretty color.
The window had been left open. A sudden breeze blew the papers off her desk and onto the floor, also kicking up the piles of red and brown hair that had been scattered about the floor, the strands falling over the vacant girl like confetti.
Brooke did not move again until morning.
She had been asleep all night the previous night and all day today. Though when Brooke finally awoke, it was in complete silence, her eyes opening with barely a flutter. She rose with a slow, fluid movement, the only sound being the rustle of her comforter sliding off of her slim frame and folding on top of itself. Her hair fell down across her shoulder and over the bare skin of her chest covered only by a thin, green, spaghetti-string halter. The warm air that had been trapped underneath the comforter had escaped, leaving the shifter's bare arms and legs prickling with goosebumps. If Brooke shifted into her fur, she could be warm as toast again.
She didn't.
In bare feet, black hipster shorts, and that thin halter, Brooke stood and walked to her window calmly and smoothly, like a ghost.
Heh. Ghosts.
She slid open the windowpane fully open, struggling slightly when it became stuck on itself. The darned window hadn't been working properly for years. However, for just as long, where there should have been a screen, there was none. Brooke grasped hold of the frame and placed one foot with red-painted toes upon the sill, pulling and pushing herself up with one quick heave. The air outside was even colder than in her room. Vermont was quickly getting a visit from the season of fall. Brooke liked the fall.
She turned to stand on her toes, gripping the window frame for support, then reached out with one foot to a bracket that was holding up the gutter pipe and hefted herself up quickly to grasp the edge of the roofing with the tips of her fingers. Brooke was frozen like that for a second as she crawled those fingertips into a better grip and gradually pulled herself up. Once both feet were planted safely on the roof of the dorms, she looked down behind her.
Four floors up. Hard ground below.
She briefly wondered what her body might look like if it fell from this height. Would it go splat? Would her soft innards be spilled out over the concrete and grass? Would she even survive?
She wondered how she would look to someone else if they were watching. As she passed by a window. How her hair would fly up, how her shirt would ripple in the wind.
What might go through her head in the few seconds it took before she landed?
Would there be regret? Would she feel fear?
Brooke had climbed to the top of the pitched roof and walked along the narrow edge, holding her arms out like a gymnast. She didn’t really need it. The cat in her gave her the balance she needed to not fall…
She never fell.
The wind picked up and she reached the edge again. With her arms still outstretched, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the chilling breeze blowing across her skin, rustling her hair into a mad frenzy. Her balance never wavered.
She never fell.
If she did somehow slip one day, would it be considered an accident? But since she came up there willingly with the hopes of somehow missing a step, would it have been on purpose? Heaven didn’t accept those who took their own life….
* * * * * * * *
Brooke leaned against the edge of her bed, staring up at the space where the wall met the ceiling.
It was so white.
She twitched her fingers and felt the edge of the red-handled shears she had stolen from the art room a few months back. Red was a pretty color.
The window had been left open. A sudden breeze blew the papers off her desk and onto the floor, also kicking up the piles of red and brown hair that had been scattered about the floor, the strands falling over the vacant girl like confetti.
Brooke did not move again until morning.
