Author's Note
Welp, it's another sad one. I'll have to try my hand at writing happy things eventually XD Happy reading!
We All Fall Down
It was a sunny Monday in November and I was waiting to get out of my 3rd period class. I danced back and forth on my toes, unable to keep still. It was my birthday! I leaned in, a trickle of sweat making a journey down my face. As soon as I heard them say,
“And today’s birthdays are Rainbow Dash...” I stopped listening. My whole body began to tingle, sending my heart soaring. No one turned and wished me a happy birthday. I brushed it off easily; this was a 10th grade class after all, and I was a senior at the top of the food chain. The high pitched bell made the doors to the multipurpose room burst open, sending us into the ocean of students that swam in the hallway. I only had a short walk, so I floated on the bubbles of people’s conversation until I was standing outside my class.
English was my favorite and least favorite subject. I enjoyed the reading aspect, just not the essay parts. I feel bad for the people who have to sit and grade our mediocre essays. If they're lucky, maybe they get treated to a good one every once in awhile. Like when you get a strawberry ice cream cone because you won the big soccer game. That kind of treat.
I felt my heart go light as I pushed open the door. I was one of the first there, like usual. As more and more people began to fill the room, no one acknowledged me. Then he walked in. Big Mac. Everyone was all over him, wishing him a happy birthday and asking him what he did, how his day was. I sank into my seat, my heart sinking with me. Tears threatened to fall down my face. They had forgotten. The tingling feeling left me, leaving behind an empty shell.
Out! Out! Out! The thought pounded against my skull, until everything went mute. I struggled against the current until I reached the teacher.
“May I go to the bathroom?” I asked, the words barely making it out of my throat. The teacher nodded, going back to his conversation.
Get out! Get out! Get out! The thought chanted as I threw open the door and walked the fastest I’d ever walked in my life. I rushed into the bathroom, slammed the stall closed, and broke down. No longer was I hiding the tears, I let them flow, filling the ocean to its peak. I leaned my head on the side, next to the “never give up!” message written on the stall. I never thought I would experience the feeling of ripping in two. Well, now I can add another thing to the list of “things I never thought I would experience”. It’s a mouthful, I know.
I sighed, thankful no one could see me. I would love to sit in this stall all day and think sad thoughts. It would be easy, looking at the messages written here. I hate myself. I have an eating disorder that I can’t get rid of. I love someone who will never love me back. Millions of broken voices whispered through the walls, trapped in the trenches of the ocean. I sat down on the floor, not caring about how recently it was cleaned. Which, by the way, was never.
My hand brushed something smooth. I looked down. Patiently waiting for me was a black sharpie. Someone must have put it there. I bit my lip. Did I want to write a message? Did I want to become a voice lost amongst millions? I hesitantly tapped the sharpie again, expecting it to pop out at me. When nothing happened, I wrapped my hand around it and pulled it to me. I twisted open the cap, unleashing the familiar smell of sharpie. I sat there, simply staring at the opened marker. The smell was beginning to make my head pound. Come on Dash, I know you want to write something. I gasped, dropping the sharpie. It almost rolled into another stall, but it didn’t quite make it. I shook my head. I guess this is why you shouldn’t sniff sharpies. Shakily, I reached out for it again.
“You aren’t going to talk again, are you?” I whispered to it. The only answer I received was laughter from some boys out in the hall. I knew they weren’t, but it felt like they were laughing at me. I scowled at the sharpie, throwing it to the ground.
I could be arrested for sharpie abuse. I bet a lot of people abuse their sharpies without realizing it. What am I doing? Contemplating whether our legal system has a law against abusing sharpies? I need to get a life. Wasting my time talking t- the time! How long has it been? It felt like two hours. I glanced at my watch. 10:08. That’s it? Only three minutes?
You either write this message, or you don’t.
I clenched my jaw shut until it hurt and reached out for the sharpie once more. But what would I write? How could I possibly fit everything that I want to say onto a bathroom stall? I closed my eyes and took a breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out with a deep sigh. I opened my eyes, they still hurt from crying, but I felt more at ease. Trembling, I lifted my hand to the stall, sharpie aimed and ready to fire.
They burned me out of their minds and had a party for him on my ashes.
A single tear rolled down my face as I stood back to admire my message. The waves of the ocean crashed and howled, but no matter how hard it tried, it couldn’t reach my ashes.
Ashes, ashes. We. All. Fall. Down.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve, looking at my watch. 10:10. I glanced at the “never give up!” message. I took the sharpie and scribbled as hard as I could over it. When I was satisfied, I dropped the sharpie back behind the toilet.
I walked out of the stall and didn’t look back.
