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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1241844-suicide
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by annie Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Novel · Emotional · #1241844
its about suicide but its not morbid. pls read and rate it. dnt be put off by the name.
  part 1                                             


                                                           
                                                        Suicide

“Sticks and stones can break my bones but words remain to taunt me when the scars from stone have long since gone, your voice will always haunt me”



Dawn soft and luminous spread over the sleepy inhabitants of Hamsamshire. Renay watched longingly from a window in the highest room of the apartment she now occupied, as the sun bathed the lush green fields in a golden glow, lighting up the leaves of the sycamore trees as if on fire. The morning air was fresh and cold, biting at her tired features.
She signed, checking her watch; She should have arrived by now.
 

    In the next instance, as if reading her thoughts, the only door in the room burst opened and a lady dressed in a gray suit, holding a large and seemingly heavy briefcase walked briskly to the table in the center of the room. She fiddled in her briefcase, producing a large file and then sat down. For several minutes she just sat there, at first scanning the area and then her large yellow file. I watched tensely, waiting.

    Finally she turned to me and, without any introductions, pointed to the chair opposite hers.
With brief hesitation, i complied, taking slow, pointed steps. 
   

  The interviewer took off her glasses, folded them carefully and put them down on the large mahogany table we were sitting at. She then rubbed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.
“So,” she said finally, her cheerless blue eyes boring into mine. “Tell me about it”

  By it, she means her. Her death. The circumstances that lead up to her death. Something happens and I tremble slightly as I remember her death. How she died. And image of that morning fights its way into my subconscious. I can clearly see myself walking into her room that Friday morning, bursting with excitement because of the important news I had to share with her….only to find her there. Like that.

  I throw up in my mouth, tears whelm in my eyes but all I can feel is disgust. No sorrow. No pain.
I don’t cry. I haven’t cried since that day and I am completely sure that I wont…ever
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