Well this was meant to be a fun post but before I started writing it I got some very bad news which upset me greatly. But I’m still going to try and make it fun. Because from what I’ve learnt in the past, writing something fun and happy while your crying either make what you write very depressing or it makes you have happy. So let’s see how this turns out.
I’m going to write a story on here and post it without much editing, just a raw copy. I think it’s going to be from Trigger Warning (any better titles y’all?) and will be some part that I haven’t written yet. I might also include some of my planning, but this is just going to be one of those posts that I’m posting because I really want to post and I’ve never seen it done before! So this should be fun. If you could comment your opinions at the end and like it that would be really lovely and cheer me up.
Idea: the cavity in the wall
Importance: of vague importance, not super important though
Setting: Lilia’s bedroom and just outside
Characters: Lilia, Eleanor (sister)
Placement: near end, two letters after, possibly two chapters
Colour process: black (ink, cavity inside), pink (ribbon), white (paper, walls), yellow (sun)
Outfit of MC: black hoodie, ripped jeans, white cropped t-shirt, pink hair
- Lilia needs to hide the letters she has written to people
- Finds a hole in the wall in the closet
- Nothing in the cavity/hole
- Puts notebook/papers with letters in hole
- All the letters get collected in the hole in the wall
- Lilia tells Mel to find the letters in the hole when she lets go
- Hole so small the papers have to be folded up completely to fit
- Also hides ribbon in the cavity
She shook on the floor, the pieces of paper strewn about her. Her feet were folded under her, her hands bunched in the fabric of her hoodie,pressed to her mouth to silence her sobs. Never before had she realised that they took up so much paper. That they covered several pages each, white paper, black lines, covered in thin, black, scrawling script. Each one held a name at the top, a name that meant so much to Lilia, a name which had caused her so much joy, or so much pain. A name which she would never forget. Each of those names had been so agonisingly hard to write, each had caused her so much pain.
Carefully she picked them up and held them in her hand, a bunch of papers which, at first glance, were quite harmless. She lay them down once again, sorting them slowly into alphabetical order, beginning at her right side with Edward, the man from her church who held a low-level position but thought he was much better than that, who had caused her so much pain through his homophobic preachings and cutting remarks about gay people all the way to Nya who had been there for her through thick and thin. There to watch her cry, to wipe the tears and tell her it would be alright. Nya who had let her know that it was alright to be as she was, to not know who she was.
Her face was streaked now with tears, each rolling down her cheeks softly as she cried. They were hot and harsh but comforting at the same time. They let her know that it was real. They reminded her that she was real. But it didn’t feel real. She didn’t feel real. Letting the tears roll down her cheeks didn’t feel right either. It didn’t feel right crying as she was. Crying seemed so wrong. But Nya had said time and time again that it was fine, but that wasn’t that comforting. Because it seemed so childish.
But the papers were still strewn about the floor, sitting in front of Lilia in alphabetical order, each several pages long. All explaining the things that each person ought to know about her, about her death when it came, about why. Each person needed an explanation. And this would give them it. Some were longer than others, some had more detail, more story to them. Some were short and sharp, getting right to the point and then trailing off. But each letter was just as important as the last. All but one. There was one letter that wasn’t there. The letter was on her desk instead, half finished. That letter was the reason the tears were falling. The letter to Melanie hurt so much to write. It was as hard. Melanie meant to much to her and it hurt to write that letter. To tell her how much she would miss her. And with that letter sat the poem. And Lilia wasn’t sure what would happen with either of those.
There were footsteps outside the room and Eleanor’s voice screaming at someone, probably Jack. It brought Lilia back to reality. It caused her to stop thinking o the unfinished letter, of the pain that was involved in writing it. It made her think about the here and now, the letters which sat in front of her, in her bedroom, now, late afternoon. The sun from the window struck the paper, turning it from white to golden in broken shards. It was almost glasslike, beautifully broken. It reminded Lilia of a picture Mel had taken of her by the bridge one day, months ago, the polaroid they both had. A picture of Lilia sitting on the dark concrete, the sun crossing her face, encaptured in her hands. The soft white dress billowing about her. That had been beautifully broken. Lilia had been beautifully broken then. She was just broken now. Just a mess of skin and bone tangled in once perfect fitting fabrics.
The papers stayed there and Lilia watched them through eyes blurred by tears, wondering where they could go. There were too many for the diary. Too many to not become suspicious. But they couldn’t live i separate places, couldn’t possibly be strewn about the room in different hiding places. There they wouldn’t be able to be found easily as she aimed to have them. That wouldn’t work either. There they would all get lost. And that was not at all what she wanted. she wanted them all in one place so that she could deal with them all easily, so she could tell one person where to go and they would find them. So she did not have people walk in and look in a book and find a letter telling them that she was going to kill herself. Because no one thought that she would possibly kill herself, the happy, joyful young girl she was. But she wasn’t happy or joyful. She was sad and broken and it just wouldn’t work like that. Not at all.
There was nowhere to hide them. There was a cardboard ox in the closet and something behind that. A hole. There was a hole in the closet, a big hole. A hole that would be able to fit the letters. It was a big, black hole that was big enough for Lilia to fit her hand into. Big enough to hide the letters in. It would be perfect.
Carefully she picked up all the letters and held them in front of her, watching the tops of them shake in her hands. Her eyes skimmed around the room, listening and watching, making sure that there was no one there who would see her place the letters into the hole. There was no one around there, no one who could walk in on her. The tears that had once been falling down her cheeks were now streaming down them, pouring red-hot, salty tears into the crevices and creases of her face and neck. There was a brief moment when she wondered what she was doing and why she was doing it. But that question was quickly overshadowed by the intrusive thoughts that pushed into her mind, explaining perfectly to her why she was doing this. Because no one else wanted her, no one else had any use for her. She was just a useless girl who cared for others and thought they liked her when actually they didn’t care for her, or love her. That was why she was doing this.
The door to the closet was slammed shut, a reminder of just how closeted she had to be, just how careful she had to be, dancing around with Melanie, skirting her family, making sure that no one suspected anything. Because that would be even harder to deal with. That was painful, that hurt her so much. No one would ever get it, it just wouldn’t happen.
She strode quickly over to the closet, carefully skirting around the clothes and papers littered over the floor, they were there for no particular reason and it was caring her, had she really got so out of it, so depressed, that she had become a pig? That she could let her bedroom get into this state? That was so wrong, she never did that. That never happened. Yet here she was, clothes and papers all over the floor.
Lilia yanked the closet open and crouched down, placing the letters on the floor beside her and began to pull things out of the closet. The boxes filled with shoes and fabrics, the binders neatly stacked, exploding with papers, designs and writings, maths work and science notes. It all come out, all got stacked neatly in a pile by her feet on the other side, away from the letters. The letters weren’t able to become damaged. At the back of the closet there was a ream of pale pink ribbon sitting alone. It was undamaged but there was very little of it left. Lilia picked it up and ran it over her hands, letting the silky fabric fall to the floor, landing softly on the letters. She bent into the closet and opened the hole in the back, pulling the black fabric that was stapled to it fall away, revealing the hole. Her hands scrabbled around in it, checking that it was empty, she was unable to see it, but from what she could tell, it was. Lilia picked up the papers from beside her and unravelled the ribbon from the reel it was on, if she was going to do this she may as well put the ribbon in with the notes, with the letters, with all the things that were going to be depressing to read. The people who found and read them at least needed a little bit of happiness, a little bit of fun. But then again, pink ribbon wasn’t that happy. Pale pink ribbon wasn’t the happiest colour out there, but it would do. And it was off the reel now, so there was no going back. She put everything back down and picked up a letter, carefully rolling it lengthways. She held it for a minute, letting it sit in her sweater pawed hand, looking at it, she hadn’t seen who it was to, but even that made her sad. But it wa for the good of everyone, she knew that. It was for the good of everyone that she was leaving as she was. When she was. No one would have to look after her again, she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone for anything anymore, everyone would be free of her. And that was all she wanted, she wanted everyone to be happy, and if that meant her not being there, so be it. That was how it would have to be.
A tear fell onto the paper and she quickly wiped it off, but it left a smudgy mark and she shrugged, hopefully it was still able to be read. If not, then that wouldn’t matter much anyway. It wasn’t really that important. It would all be forgotten in a couple of months. Everything would be just as she wanted it to be. Gone. Forgotten. That would be perfect. The papers would be the only reminders of her then. And that was good. She watched the tear streak on the paper for a few seconds before jerking it away and blinking quickly. Lilia reached into the closet and placed the paper inside the cavity, letting it fall to the bottom and hoping that it was empty. She withdrew her hand and picked up another letter, rolling it and placing it into the cavity, this time the process was much faster and she picked up another, rolling it and placing it into the cavity. She repeated the process again and again until there were no letters beside her. Finally all were gone and she sat back on her heels, looking at the cavity in the closet. Was it going to work, was anything going to actually work? Was anyone going to find them when she was gone? Was someone going to find them? She hoped so at least and grabbed the fabric, quickly stuffing it over the hole, closing it off to the world.
Slowly she picked up the boxes and placed them back into the closet one at a time, making sure they were in almost the same place as usual. One at a time, tears still dripping down her face. Eventually they were all back, all where they actually belonged. There were too many, it hurt to put them back, to cover up the hole, to hide the letters away fully. It was painful to remove them from herself, to hide them away from the world. But it was necessary, so, so necessary. Because no one could see them until she was gone, until everything had been finished.
Everything was back. Everything was gone. The letters were gone, hidden away. The boxes were gone, back where they belonged. And she was back to the way she always was. Alone. With no one around. And it was scary, and it hurt. But that was why she was doing what she was, sof she wouldn’t be alone any longer and so no one had to worry about her any more.
She sat for a while, staring but not seeing, thinking but not processing her thoughts. Everything was getting to be too much, and it was scary. Lilia broke down now, letting the tears fall heavier than they had before, collapsing to the ground, crying, no idea what she was doing. Nothing was right, oohing was ever right, nothing would ever be right. Never.
If you’ve read all of that, thank you. It you’re reading this I need to say that I may not post again this week because we’ve got exams and the bad news may get worse over the course of the week and I therefore may not feel up to posting. But we’ll see how it goes.
Also, if you’re still reading, I updated my about page, so go check that out!!!
see you in the next post!
I’m Scared | How To Study | Most Likely To