Sleep

This story follows a young girl, going through her morning routine and only wanting to go back to bed. She has been depressed for a long while without knowing it, and takes the only exit she can find.

Ringing. The kind that pierces your ears and drills into your skull when you hear it. Nokia's standard alarm tone. I hit the snooze button and check the clock by my bed.
Six o'clock. Oh well.
I wake grudgingly, as always - but who's happy when they wake up so early? I, for one, like to sleep.
Sleepily I drag on my jeans and the black shirt I wore yesterday, the cute one with the cap sleeves, but one look towards the window and the soaked street above makes me dig up a hoodie from my closet. I look outside again, catching sight of the rain pouring in impossible angles. Two hoodies. And an undershirt.
How can it rain so hard in the middle of May? It was sunny yesterday - I went to school in shorts! That reminds me - another pair of socks. I go around my room collecting the hastily thrown notes - off the floor, the desk, the bed; and jam them all into my backpack. I was up last night studying till two, but no matter.
You know, my mother tells me how proud she is every day. I have all As, of course. But I'm constantly sleepy. And I, for one, would most like to sleep through the day. It's when I'm at my happiest.
But I have to go to school. We have a math test today, and I know everything by heart.
I go into the kitchen and chow down some cereal flakes, my favorite meal these days, because it takes a second to prepare. I like the chocolate ones. Just pour them in a bowl and add milk. I like milk, too.
I slip into my shoes and my jacket, put my headphones in and attach them to my cell phone. I like music.
I leave the house and take a deep whiff of the fresh air that always seems to come with the heavy rain - did you know I liked rain as well? Its music is so much better than Paramore. I place my headphones into my backpack, open my umbrella and run across the street.
We don't have traffic lights in front of my house, you know, but that's not a problem anymore. My brothers and I have learned that sometimes the cars slow down if they see a child on the street. Not often, mind you - everyone is always in a hurry for some reason - but sometimes they slow down for us.
Our street is a bit slanted, you know. It's so that rain water will go to the sides and down the drains, or so my grandpa says. I don't like it much, my shoes are often as flooded as the street, but I never get that upset. They'll dry. I go down the hill and around the small church, like a zombie in that movie, because I'm so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open. But I can see my school already - just across the street! It's right there, across the way. I just need to cross the street...
My thoughts evaporate, turn to mist, as I yawn.
That's probably why I didn't hear the car approach.
My eyes closed - I didn't see the headlights.
And then it was too late.
As I float, I see the girl fly though the rain and fall. She looks like she's sleeping. And the car there, the one that, apparently, hit the girl in the first place, stops and the driver walks out onto the rain. A pretty lady. She screams and runs to the girl, and I try to tell her to keep it down - to let the girl sleep. Maybe it's good that she didn't hear me, maybe she should wake the girl up after all. I think I see blood.
But I can't really see anything well anymore. The world turns gray, dark, black.
And I sleep.
I, for one, like to sleep.

Author's Note

Another one I wrote at 15, but it's about how I felt in elementary school. It took a professional psychologist to tell me that the fact that I'd slept through three years of my life wasn't normal adolescent behavior as I'd thought, but a deep depression. This is how I often imagined my life ending.

Reviews

[Amaya Sullivan]

Wow. As I was reading this I figured it was a first hand experience. It was very well written, and I was not expecting such an ending. I like how you were describing the things she liked even though it was still not enough to help her.

[Lola M]

Oh thanks so much! It really means even more seeing as this is really a personal story. I'm happy you liked it (you're basically my only fan, don't you know)

[Amaya Sullivan]

I really love your writing! I am working my way through your stories. I really don't know much about poems or anything. I saw your tagline wanting reviews to know if you suck or not, and I completely understand. Keep writing!

[Lola M]

Agh gosh thanks so much, you're being so nice!