• Published 5th Jul 2019
  • 3,033 Views, 54 Comments

The Time We Have Left - Scampy



Unable to handle her anxiety without the memory stone, Wallflower Blush tries to end her life. The attempt leaves her too injured to recover, and with just hours left to live, she expects to die all alone—until Sunset Shimmer appears, asking, “Why?"

  • ...
20
 54
 3,033

Wanting

Wallflower Blush stared bleary-eyed at the tiny screen of her phone. A veritable laundry list of messages that began long before she woke up slid across the screen as she scrolled through them.

>Sunset: Hey, just wanted to check in

>Sunset: Haven’t seen you since the semester ended, everything okay?

>Sunset: If you want, we can get some coffee and catch up

>Sunset: I know this place a few blocks from school that’s got really great frapps

>Sunset: If it’d make you more comfortable, I can bring something over to your place. Just let me know what you want

>Sunset: I think I remember your address from that time I walked you home. 428 Saddlebridge?

>Sunset: Please let me know when you get this

Wallflower could hardly focus on the words, let alone understand any meaning from them. Still, there was no point in doing either. She had been ignored long enough to know how to do it to others. If she didn’t say anything, Sunset would give up and leave her alone. Wallflower knew she just wasn’t worth Sunset's efforts.

She looked at the timestamps and blinked in surprise. The first message had come at noon, with the rest spread out over an hour. Had she really slept in that late?

A cursory glance out the window confirmed that her neighbors’ cars were not in the driveway. Her eyes glared at the unkempt grass and weeds sticking up on either side of the cracked concrete. There had been a time when Wallflower prided herself on taking care of the apartment building’s front lawn, but the days of early mornings and meticulous care were long past her.

She looked at her phone again, confirming the time. It was a little before 4:00 in the afternoon. Yawning, she shuffled across the musty carpet towards her bedroom. Even though she had slept for so long, she was still exhausted.

As she sat on her bed, a mattress on the floor cluttered in sheets and dirty laundry, Wallflower let out a sour laugh at her own lethargy, knowing it would be replaced by the seizing grip of anxiety the second she stepped out the door. No wonder she was always so tired—her mind was performing a balancing act between constantly freaking out and not caring at all.

Falling back onto a pile of unwashed clothes, Wallflower stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Despite how eternal such oscillations seemed, she knew that it hadn’t been very long ago that she could leave her home without fear. She lazily rolled over, searching the floor for the cold gray stone that she knew was no longer among the messiness.

Wallflower remained motionless for a few more—minutes? Hours? She didn’t know, honestly. Blinking at muted piles of junk was tiresome. Eventually she got bored of being bored and lurched off the mattress, her tangled hair settling in knots around her. As she stood, wobbling, Wallflower looked to her tattered green bag by the door, and her thoughts at last turned to her only reason for getting out of bed today.

She stepped over a stack of discarded wrappers and crumpled papers, making her way across the tiny space of her bedroom. When she reached her bag, she dug around through the mess of unfinished assignments from classes she had long since failed. At the bottom of it all, she found what she was looking for—a tiny plastic box, no larger than a thumb drive and half as wide.

Wallflower turned it over in her hand, observing every bit of it as if she needed to confirm it was really there. The cartridge and its contents had stayed with her whenever she left her apartment, providing a substitute method of distracting herself from her anxiety. It wasn’t as good as the memory stone, but it was all she had now. As she opened it, she saw the tool she needed—a wafer-thin razor blade.

Wallflower pulled the razor from the cartridge and removed the thin paper wrapped around. It was incredibly light, so much so that it hardly felt like she was holding anything at all.

A withering sigh later, Wallflower moved to the bathroom and put the razor on the counter top. Scanning the counter, she found and reached for the bottle of store-brand aspirin. An internet search from last night had told her that she would need to take at least thirty to achieve any kind of significant blood-thinning effect, and from the weight of the bottle it seemed like she had more than enough. After fiddling with the child lock, Wallflower popped off the lid and poured some of the bottle’s contents into her hand.

At her best estimate—and Wallflower was terrible at math—she was holding about a dozen pills. Looking down into the bottle, she confirmed that there were plenty left, certainly enough for what she needed. Nodding to herself, Wallflower dumped the handful of pills into her mouth—and immediately gagged when she attempted to dry-swallow them all at once.

Hacking and stumbling, Wallflower was barely able to keep from coughing up the pills in her throat. The bottle of aspirin almost spilled its contents all over the floor, and she shakily placed it back on the counter. Wallflower groaned, mentally scolding herself for being so stupid. She stomped to the kitchen for a glass, filled it and returned to the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, she poured herself another handful of pills and swallowed them, this time with water. Wallflower repeated the process three more times, totaling five handfuls. Even with the water, taking so many pills at once left her gasping, and she leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

When her lungs at last steadied, Wallflower returned to her task. She removed her sweater, its heavy woolen sleeves slipping away to reveal dozens and dozens of hair-thin lines running nearly parallel all the way up her forearms. Wallflower had learned long ago that deeper cuts were best saved for places less easy to see.

The sweater fell to the floor in a heap, and she stepped over it. A brief glance at the mirror revealed baggy brown eyes without so much as a spark of emotion. Matted green hair stuck out every-which-way like overgrown vines, falling over her shoulders and partially obscuring the thick purple scars that marred them. Wallflower’s eyes flicked down, only to meet their own gaze once more with a renewed anger at her own grossly-proportioned body. After thoroughly inspecting and despising every part of the girl in the mirror, Wallflower picked up the razor. Sighing, she turned away from her hideous reflection for what was thankfully the final time.

She turned on the bath faucet, flinching as a few drops of cold water got on her arm. Something in the back of her head laughed at her for such a reaction, knowing what she was about to do.

As she waited for the water to heat up, she tested the razor’s edge by drawing a few thin lines across her wrist. The cuts didn’t really hurt and were barely deep enough to draw blood, but the sight of redness bubbling up from her skin was satisfying as ever.

Finally, the bath began to fill with hot water. Wallflower passed the time by sliding the blade over her wrist, stopping to focus on the trail of blood that rose in the wake of the razor with every pass. This was all she had left, without the memory stone, so it was no wonder it hadn’t been enough. Self-inflicted pain could hardly distract her from her own awkwardness and the swaths of judgmental glares and whispers it brought on. It had been much easier to handle the world outside her room when she could just wipe away her mistakes, but even then she kept screwing up, no matter how many first impressions she gave.

Soon she wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. Looking over her shoulder, Wallflower saw the bath was nearly full. She turned off the faucet and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. Then, she climbed into the tub, not bothering to remove her pajama pants.

The fabric of her pajamas clung to her legs as she lowered herself into the water. It was almost too hot, but there was no reason to back out now. Wincing, she sank the last few inches, until her body was almost entirely submerged. Her breaths grew heavier in the steamy air, but Wallflower hardly noticed. Instead, she held her razor before her, blinking at the tiny droplets of water that clung to its surface.

This was it. She was ready.

Wallflower raised the blade to her wrist and took a deep, deep breath. In one quick motion, she sliced down her forearm with as much pressure as she could, and immediately cried out. She had expected this to hurt, though. She knew what she was getting into, and she could handle it.

Immediately, blood poured from the gash, spreading through the water like a cloud and tainting the bathwater a bright red shade. Wallflower held her breath and gritted her teeth as the burning, stinging sensation screamed at her. Sure enough, though, the pain subsided to a level where she could return her focus to her task.

Another deep breath, and she slashed the razor down her other arm. This cut was much deeper, and an even louder scream escaped her. Her lungs inhaled and exhaled sharper and faster, the hot air above the crimson bath smelling of copper. Wallflower fought to keep control of her mind, putting all her focus into not panicking. The worst thing she could do now would be to call for help. She made it this far—she couldn't let herself screw it up now.

When her breaths at last began to slow, she fell back into the water, whimpering. It was done. She did it. She could finally, finally relax. There would be no more fitful mornings of anxiety to suffocate her with panic or endless afternoons beneath the waves of depression, no more lonely evenings missing the parents who didn’t remember her or sleepless nights fostering her self-loathing in the dark.

As the minutes passed and she got colder and colder, Wallflower could feel her mind drifting away from her body. Her eyelids grew heavier as her head grew lighter, and the ringing in her ears hummed louder and louder, deafening the whole world. Soon enough, she was floating away entirely. Her breathing slowed, and she sank a little in the tub, her head barely above the scarlet-stained water.

How long had she been here? Ten minutes? Half an hour? Longer? Her arms didn’t even hurt anymore. In fact, she didn’t feel anything at all. Just sleepiness, like she always hoped it would be, creeping in with the darkness on the edges of her vision.

Time passed ever-slower, and everything around her diminished. As the last of her senses faded away, Wallflower knew she was at the end, and she welcomed the wave of total numbness that swept over her mind and body.

Somewhere beyond the last fragments of her consciousness, she heard a series of muted sounds—a bell? It rang a few more times, then something started banging.

It didn’t matter. In the past she would have fallen into anxious terror, but the sounds couldn’t hurt her anymore. Nothing could hurt her anymore.

She could finally let go. She was finally going to be okay.

Wallflower closed her eyes, and the world disappeared.


The first thing Wallflower realized was how bright it was, even with her eyes closed. Her head was throbbing mercilessly, as if her skull would split apart any second. For some reason, though, the pain was diluted enough that it felt more like a neutral state of being, rather than her body signaling harm.

Why did her head hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. She shouldn’t hurt. She shouldn’t feel anything. Maybe she was in an afterlife?

Her eyes fluttered open just enough for her to see through her eyelashes, but the world around her remained impossible to make out. From what she could tell, everything was a soft blue, like she was drifting along a summer sky.

Was this heaven...? Had that weird lady next door with all the pamphlets been right all along?

Wallflower blinked away bleariness, and when things finally began to fade into focus, her religious reverie was shattered. Terror gripped her slow-beating heart as she observed the thick bandages that were wrapped around her arms, going all the way up to her elbows. A tube peaked out from beneath the cloth, which was itself stained red with blood. Her blood. And it hurt, and she knew it hurt, because she was alive.

This was a hospital. She was in a hospital. It didn’t work.

“Wallflower!”

She looked up, the muscles in her neck creaking as if they hadn’t been used in years. She saw a face adorned with an expression she didn’t quite recognize. The face was far away though, and she still couldn’t make it out, other than the red and gold streaks all around it.

“O-oh thank Goddess, you’re awake!”

There was a voice. A familiar voice.

Her voice.

“Quick, i-in here! Please! She’s awake!”

This couldn’t be happening. What did she do wrong? Did she not take enough aspirin? Did she not cut deep enough? Was the water too cold?

“Oh, Wallflower, y-you...!”

Wallflower closed her eyes again. This was all wrong. She was supposed to be dead. She wanted to die. Why was she still alive?

“Excuse me, miss,” another voice said. It was rougher, older.

“Right, s-sorry...”

At last, Wallflower couldn’t stand her own silence anymore. She channeled what little willpower she had into opening her eyes and meeting the gaze of the girl she knew was beside her.

Sunset Shimmer stared back at her, tears streaming down her face.

A thousand scathing screams twisted around in Wallflower’s mind, each hypothetical outburst aimed squarely at Sunset. When she turned her head to see the other person in the room, though, the first words that left her mouth were anything but angry.

“...Y-you don’t look like a doctor,” Wallflower said. Her voice was raspy and strained, but speaking was otherwise painless.

The not-a-doctor nodded. “Correct, I’m not a doctor. My name is Clara, I’m a nurse here. It’s nice to meet you.”

Wallflower gave no reply.

“Yes, uhm, Miss... Flower, right?”

Wallflower sighed, not bothering to correct her. Besides, her last name ceased to mean anything after she had erased her family’s memories of her.

After an extended silence, the nurse spoke up again. “How are you feeling?”

Again, Wallflower refused to answer. She instead stared at a sign beside the doorway behind the nurse, trying and failing to make out the letters through her hazy vision.

“Miss Shimmer,” Clara spoke up. “If you would give us the room, please.”

“Wh-what? But Wallflower just woke up!” Sunset protested, a little too loudly. “I’m not leaving her!”

“I understand you’re upset,” the nurse said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to step outside while I talk with Miss Flower, for privacy reasons.”

“B-but...”

The nurse looked at her clipboard and sighed. “Of course... It won’t make much difference either way.” She turned to Wallflower, who refused to meet her gaze. “Are you alright with her staying?”

As her fear and anger sank into bitterness, Wallflower glared at Sunset. Refusing to let her stay would certainly make her upset. After what Sunset no doubt did, it would be fitting for Wallflower to take away something she wanted.

“Ugh...” Wallflower sighed. “Yeah, o-okay.” Beside her, she heard Sunset’s thanks and chose to ignore it.

“Well, I’m... I’m sorry to say I don’t have any good news,” the nurse said.

Sunset froze beside her. “What do you mean...?”

“Miss Flower lost—”

Wallflower groaned. “Wallflower. My name is Wallflower.”

“Y-yes, alright. Wallflower lost a lot of blood. Too much blood.” The nurse closed her eyes, shaking her head. “By the time she was brought in, well...”

“I’m right here, y’know,” Wallflower said, frowning.

“I’m sorry, uhm...” The nurse took a deep breath. “I’m having trouble finding my words, is all.”

“What is it?” Sunset’s voice was meek and breathless. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“She... No.” The nurse sighed. She wiped her eyes beneath her glasses. “You were in shock after so much blood loss, and the aspirin only made things even worse.”

Wallflower felt some spark of an emotion in her chest. “And?”

“And, your body is too damaged to recover,” the nurse said. “It’s all holding on right now, but... But in a few hours, your organs will start to fail, one by one.

The spark blinked to life again, and Wallflower shifted beneath the thin bedsheet. “So I’m going to die,” she said flatly.

Before the nurse could say the word Wallflower so desperately wanted to hear, Sunset interjected with its opposite. “N-no!” she cried, her voice cracking. “There has to be something you can do!”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “I really wish there was. We can give her something for the pain, but...” She trailed off, her words caught in her throat. On the other side of the bed, Sunset was sobbing, shaking her head and whimpering to herself. The entire room froze into silence, and Wallflower realized she was holding her breath.

When at last the nurse spoke, her voice was the softest sound in the world. “...All we can do now is ease her passing.”


Wallflower stared at the bandages wrapped around her arms. A bit more blood had seeped into them, so that red marks spread across them like crevices in the earth. Beside her, Sunset had finally stopped crying, although Wallflower had stopped paying attention a while ago.

A few hours left, the nurse had said. A few hours until her body at last crossed the point of no return, and the vessel trapping her to this life was finally extinguished. Wallflower had lived for seventeen years, and yet the next few hours seemed to stretch infinitely longer before her.

How long is a few anyway, she wondered. It had probably been at least an hour since she woke up, but when would she go back to sleep? Would she be lying here, then blink, only to realize the world wasn’t coming back from that split second of blackness? Would she be here until tomorrow? Would they find some way to save her before she could die?

Wallflower had heard the ever-so-popular stories about jumpers changing their minds mid-fall, or some variation on the cliche. As she blinked—damn it—at the stained bandages again, she wondered why she was the exception. Perhaps those stories were just fiction espoused by people who had never struggled with wanting to die. Perhaps she was just more determined to end.

A sullen voice sounded beside her, and Wallflower glanced at Sunset. She had her head in her hands, and while she was no longer sobbing uncontrollably, the occasional hitched breath punctuated her impossibly soft whimpers. Wallflower was about to turn away when Sunset said something, but she was far too quiet to be heard.

“What?” Wallflower was surprised at how clear her own voice was. Somehow, she thought dying would be more... Not this, whatever this was.

Sunset spoke again, and again Wallflower couldn’t hear. Maybe it was the ringing in her ears, or maybe Sunset was just being rude.

“I can’t hear you,” Wallflower said.

Sunset lifted her head, staring off to the side. “...Why?”

“What?”

“Wh-why would you do this?” Sunset shouted.

Wallflower glared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

Sunset started crying again. “Of c-course I’m serious! H-h-how could you just—y-you didn’t even say anything!”

“If I had, you would have tried to stop me,” Wallflower said.

“I-I don’t... I don’t understand, Wallflower,” Sunset said, wiping away her tears. “I had no idea you were s-so far gone... I thought you were finally feeling better.”

“And how’d you come to that conclusion?” Wallflower rolled her eyes. “What did you think was gonna happen, Sunset? That all the misery that’s shadowed me for my entire life would just melt away because you gave me a hug and invited me to coffee a few times?”

“I-I mean—”

“And the memory—!” Wallflower raised her voice, only to be silenced by a fit of heavy coughs.

“Wallflower!” Sunset shot up, her eyes full of panic.

“I’m—” Wallflower coughed again. Her chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. “I-I’m fine.”

“But... I can get someone to help,” Sunset said.

“No you can’t,” Wallflower droned. “No one can help me anymore. You heard what she said.”

“Wallflower...”

“The memory stone,” Wallflower said. “I did horrible things with it, to you more than anyone! You don’t have to pretend it’s no big deal.”

“I told you, it’s okay,” Sunset said. “I forgave you, Wallflower. I w-wish you could’ve forgiven yourself...”

“I don’t deserve it,” Wallflower said, sighing. “You wouldn’t give me what I deserved, s-so I did it myself.”

At that, Sunset’s eyes hardened, even as they were brimming with tears. “Do not say that,” she said. “You deserve a better life, n-not... Not...”

Wallflower glared at her visitor. “What’s your goal here, Sunset?”

“My goal?” Sunset blinked, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, like what are you here for?” Wallflower asked. “Did you come to convince me that life’s worth living? That I shouldn’t want to die?”

“I mean...” Sunset shrugged. “It is, and you shouldn’t.”

“Let’s say you succeed,” Wallflower said. “What then?”

“Huh?”

“Even if you did convince me that I should want to live, it’s too late,” Wallflower said. “You heard them. I’ve got another few hours—could be ten, could be one—before my body starts shutting down. If you make me want a better life, you’ll only be giving me a worse death.”

“Wallflower...”

“You know I’m right,” Wallflower said. “And yeah, maybe I’m just playing into blissful ignorance, but it’s a hell of a lot less painful than grasping at straws with dying hands.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be okay with you killing yourself.” Sunset lowered her head. “It’s not okay, and it’ll never be okay.”

“I’m okay with you not being okay with it,” Wallflower said. She yawned, her eyes half-lidded. “I’d ask you to give me the same consideration when it comes to living at all.”

“I can’t do that,” Sunset said.

Wallflower looked at her and sighed. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

“Tired of what?” Sunset asked.

“Tired of pretending,” Wallflower said. “Pretending you don’t understand.”

Sunset tilted her head. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”

“Yes you are,” Wallflower said. “You and I both know that at some point in your life—maybe more than once, even—if things had gone a little differently, it’d be you in this bed and not me. Maybe at a different time, maybe for a different reason, but...” She gave Sunset a tired shrug. “At some point, you’ve wanted to do what I did.”

Sunset sighed, leaning back in the chair. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

“To be honest, it’s more of a guess,” Wallflower said. “You told me yourself—you were lonely for a really long time.”

“Quite a thing to guess about,” Sunset said.

“I kinda hope I’m wrong,” Wallflower said. “But... I’m not, am I?

Sunset stared past Wallflower, her eyes softening. “No,” she said, “you’re not wrong.”

“Then you can’t honestly tell me that you think what I did was wrong,” Wallflower said “If at any point in your life you’ve really wanted to die, some part of you—no matter how small—will always want to.”

Sunset shook her head. “Maybe once,” she said. “But I’ve been over that for a long time.”

Wallflower sighed, staring at the wall. “If only it were that easy for me,” she said. “It’s something that stayed with me. As soon as I let that thought enter my head, as soon as I really considered it, it was there to stay. I could push it back, ignore it, try to deny it, but...” Her gaze met Sunset’s, and in those blue eyes Wallflower recognized the same fear she had seen in the mirror for years. “It was a part of me, and even if you won’t admit it, it’s a part of you too. It’s an infection that you can’t cure, but only hope to keep in remission. Every time something goes wrong, no matter how big or small, that little thing in your head will offer its solution.”

Sunset looked away, and Wallflower knew she was right.

“Every time it does, you’ll have to tell it no. I finally thought I was getting good at that part.” Wallflower shifted in the tiny bed as a chill ran through her. “Not good enough, I guess. Eventually it caught up with me, and here I am. I could only hide from the truth for so long.”

“And what truth is that?” Sunset asked.

“That this is how I was going to die, no matter what,” Wallflower said. “That sooner or later, I would be too exhausted to keep telling it, ‘No, I want to live.’ Every time I did, it wore me down, bit by bit until it stopped being a choice, and started being an inevitable end.”

“I can’t let myself accept that.” Sunset blinked away a tear. “As soon as I do, that’ll be it.”

“Maybe you won’t have to. Everyone’s different, I guess, so maybe you’ll have better luck than I did,” Wallflower said. “I’d say I want you to live a good life, but I guess it doesn’t really matter what I want anymore, does it?”

“Of course it does, Wallflower,” Sunset said softly.

Wallflower sat back in the bed, squinting her eyes at the dim fluorescent glow of the ceiling lights. “And what if I want you to pull the plug on me right now?” she asked.

Sunset leaned forward. “I don’t want to make you do or feel anything you don’t want to,” she said. “And, I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to do, either.”

Wallflower rolled her eyes. “Then why are you here? I can’t think of any reason outside of those two.”

“Because you shouldn’t be alone,” Sunset said. She took Wallflower’s free hand gently in her own. “Especially not now.

In that moment, Wallflower felt the embers of something—some long-forgotten emotion—smoldering in her heart. She sighed, lightly squeezing Sunset’s hand. “I wish you’d realized that a little sooner,” she said. Braving a glance at Sunset, Wallflower noticed a wetness on her face.

“I... I wish I had too,” Sunset said.

“This isn’t your fault. Not really,” Wallflower said. “You kept reaching out to me, but I just kinda gave up on myself, I guess. I’ve been on my own for such a long time... At a certain point I stopped wanting to have a friend.” She gave Sunset a tired smile. “It made this a lot easier, so... Maybe all that loneliness was a good thing after all.”

“I really wish you didn’t feel that way,” Sunset said.

“Y-yeah,” Wallflower sighed. “Me too.”

Sunset stood, moving from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed. Wallflower couldn’t meet her gaze, and a shaky exhale left her as she felt Sunset rubbing a thumb slowly across the back of her hand. The nameless feeling swelled again, forcing her to wipe away a few more tears.

“Sunset...?” Wallflower was a little surprised by how soft her voice had gotten.

Sunset turned to face her. “What is it?” she asked.

“Do you, uhm...” Wallflower paused, then stifled a laugh. “Oh geez, I’m gonna sound like such a child...”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sunset said. “I promise it’s okay.”

“This is a really stupid question, considering what got me here, but... When it happens..." Wallflower sighed, and a shudder tingled up her spine. She looked at Sunset, who gently squeezed her hand again. “Do you think it’ll hurt...?”

Sunset gave her a sullen look. “I don’t know,” she said.

Wallflower shifted beneath the bedsheet. “Whenever I dreamed about it—which was a lot, I should say—I always imagined it would be no different from falling asleep.” Wallflower closed her eyes, a shallow exhale leaving her lips. “I hope I’m right. I’m really, really tired.”

“I'd think it would be like...” Sunset spoke in an almost-whisper. “What was it like before.”

Wallflower turned her head. “Before?”

“When you... When you were in the bath,” Sunset said. "Th-there was so much blood..." She paused, her eyes shutting tight for a moment. "But y-you... You didn't look like you were in pain at all."

“Oh yeah, you saw that, didn’t you?” Wallflower gave a dry laugh. “I really wish you hadn’t.”

“I wish I hadn’t either,” Sunset said. “But I’m glad I did, if it means I can be here now.”

“Why were you at my apartment, anyway?” Wallflower asked.

Sunset heaved a sigh. “I guess I was worried? I dunno. I hadn’t seen you since school got out last month, and you never responded to anything I sent you. I wanted to see you, to be sure you were okay.”

“Ah...”

Sunset turned to her, tears falling onto the bed. “W-when I got there, I could see through the window that the bathroom light was on. I kept ringing the doorbell, and knocking louder and louder, b-but you didn’t answer. I just knew something was wrong, and I called 911, but...” She shuddered as another sigh left her. “I should’ve been worried sooner...”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could have done, honestly,” Wallflower said. Speaking was getting more and more difficult, her chest twisting beneath each breath. Frowning, she forced the words out all the same. “If y-you’d gotten there before, I’d have just pretended I was okay until you left.”

“Maybe,” Sunset said. “Or maybe I could have made you feel a little better, just long enough for you to want to hold on.”

“That’s a big ‘maybe.’”

“I-I know you’ll tell me not to, but...” Sunset looked away, her hand sliding off Wallflower’s. “I’m going to blame myself for this for a long, long time...”

“You’re right,” Wallflower said. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. But if you’re going to anyway, uhm...” She shivered, both from anxiousness and the mounting chill that was creeping into her limbs. “Can you do something for me?”

“Of course, Wallflower. Anything,” Sunset said.

“Back when I had the memory stone, I...” Wallflower’s voice cracked, and she realized she was crying. “I wiped my parents memories of me. I thought they were really stuck up and annoying, and I was a st-stupid kid, believing I didn’t need them...”

Sunset let out a trembling sigh. “I know what it’s like to abandon people who care about you,” she said.

“Then you know how important it is that they remember. E-even if it’s after I’m gone...” Wallflower looked up at Sunset, her eyes pleading and desperate. “Please, do whatever it takes to undo what I did. And not just them—everyone, if you can.”

“Wallflower...” Sunset trailed off, and Wallflower’s heart sank.

“It’s okay,” she said. “If it’s impossible, it’s impossible. I just, I dunno... I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“I’ll do it,” Sunset said suddenly, her face lighting up with determination. “I promise you, Wallflower. I’ll get everyone’s memories back.”

“S-Sunset...” Wallflower raised her hand as much as she could, a task far more difficult that she’d expected. Sunset got the idea and leaned down, holding Wallflower in a gentle embrace. As warm as the hug was, though, it only made Wallflower realize just how cold her own body was.

“Th-thank you,” Wallflower said, her fresh tears wetting Sunset’s shirt. “I’ll be able to... To rest a lot easier, knowing you’ll make things right.” Sunset held her a little tighter, and Wallflower allowed herself a brief smile. When the hug ended, Wallflower leaned back into the bed, a faint shudder running through her.

“Is there anything you want me to tell your parents?” Sunset asked. “When their memories come back, I mean.”

“J-just...” Wallflower blinked slowly. “Just that I’m sorry I left them.”

“Okay.” Sunset smiled at her. “I’ll tell them. I promise.”

“I’m, uhh..." Wallflower sighed, her eyes losing focus for a moment. "I’m getting kinda sleepy...”

Sunset’s smile remained, even as tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s okay, Wallflower.”

“I-I don't know how long I'll b-be asleep before, uhm...” Wallflower's voice was breathless. "...Before I'm gone," she whispered. She heaved against the stiffness of her lungs, and with every sluggish, labored breath, it got a little harder for her to stay awake.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Sunset said. Her voice was strained and measured, and Wallflower could tell she was trying her hardest not to break down. "I'll be right here with you, okay?"

"O-okay," Wallflower said. She yawned, her muscles losing tension as she did. "I'd like that."

Sunset nodded, smiling as best she could.

“It’s kinda—uhh...” Wallflower stared at the wall for a second, chasing down the lost thought. “Uhm... O-oh, yeah. It’s kinda funny. I’ve wanted this for so long. Longer than I can remember.”

Sunset said nothing. She pulled the chair over so she could sit by the head of the hospital bed. As she sat down, she put her arm around Wallflower, bringing them closer together.

Wallflower rested her head against Sunset, reveling in the last vestige of warmth. “Now th-that I’ve got it, though... It’s not that I regret it—I’m happy that I c-can finally, uhm... That I...”

Beside her, Wallflower heard Sunset’s composure breaking down, her whimpers echoing in Wallflower’s ringing ears.

“I’m ready to die,” Wallflower said, blinking away the last of her own tears. “I-I’ve been ready for a really long time. I j-just wish... I wish I'd never wanted to at all.”

Sunset held her a little closer, and again, Wallflower smiled.

“I’m g-gonna go to sleep now,” Wallflower said. She was barely able to look up at Sunset, their eyes meeting for the last time. Another chill ran through her, and her voice fell below a whisper. “Y-you’ll stay with me...?”

“Yes,” Sunset whispered back. Her free hand found Wallflower’s own, and their fingers intertwined. “Always.”

Just as before, blackness crept along the edges of Wallflower’s vision. She sighed, immersing herself in this final moment of peace. The warmth of a friend was much more comforting than hot, bloodied bathwater.

“Th-thank you for being h-here,” she said. “It’s n-nicer than before...”

Everything started to shift out of focus. The sounds of Sunset's cries were softer now, and even the ringing in her ears was fading away. With the last of her strength, she pressed herself into the embrace and squeezed Sunset’s hand in her own.

When Wallflower drifted off, she had a smile on her face.

Author's Note:

Thank you Antiquarian for your comment and reminders.

If you ever feel like you are a danger to yourself, please, please reach out to someone.

Comments ( 54 )

Geez, you weren't wrong about it being gratuitous. The bathroom scene was especially hard to read.

But this was good. Overall, I enjoyed it.

You're pretty good at this sad fic thing. Who woulda thunk

This is the first fanfic that I've read that has actually made me cry. Well done.

Wow... that was tough for me to read; in a well-written way, of course.

Dark or self-harm stories aren't usually my thing, but this one was worth the read. Nice work.

Oh my goodness.

This story had me feeling helpless from beginning to end. One of your other stories (you know the one) had a way of keeping the naiive part of me hopeful (you know, until it died). This evoked a kind of dread reserved for the innevitable.

Well done, as always!

Wanderer D
Moderator

Wow. Really good job. And what a promise to ask/make.

Great story

9714845
Oh hey, it's you. You finally did read something of mine. I think C2 owes me money now.

Or... Maybe the other way around? 9714730 Which was it? Or was there even a bet or am I thinking of something else?

Wanderer D
Moderator

9714876 Well, I'm glad I did!

You did it again, Scampy. Oh poor dear...

Round of applause; loved reading it. Even though, I teared up at that ending.

<3

Ya done hit the feature box! Congrats!

To anyone reading this who may be struggling with thoughts of suicide, please know that you can be helped. Your life matters, and the world will be emptier and darker if you are gone. Even if by some twist of fate no one noticed (and it's almost certain someone would know and care), there would still be a phantom pain - an absence that no one would know the source of, but would be felt all the same. We would be diminished by the loss of you. If that wasn't true, then why is it that people willingly choose to spend their days professionally helping complete strangers to realize their own self worth? You matter. Please talk to someone who can remind you of that.

If you're not struggling, but you know people who might be, please share this, especially if you write stories dealing with this subject material - I have therapist friends, and they advised me long ago to pass this along in case the content is a trigger for people.

Suicide Hotline: Link
List of International Suicide Hotlines: Link

... damn did that ever Stab at the heart and gouge extra for good measure.

Well done. what... more can i say?

It was a very, very good story. I loved it. The only complaint I even have which doesn’t really matter is that they could just have induced coma and given blood transfusions.

9715139
If someone is in hemorrhagic shock for too long, hypoxia (lack of oxygen) sets in and cells around the body start to shut down. Different cells have different limits before they reach this point, but after how long Wallflower was bleeding for, a cascade of organ failures was inevitable. Once major systems have started to die, providing more blood just isn't enough.

Wow, that was really emotional. I should not have read it in a public place.

9715139
A blood transfusion won't do anything if your body's too weak to use it.

Wow....this is...really good.

OOF, depression 100, too real, big mood, can relate, much same such sad, hello darkness my old friend, Feels got mlg 360 no scope 420 blazed. But honestly too close to home why did I read this

It's strange reading suicide stories. I feel happy less alone seeing other people like me. But it feels sad that there's so many. I wouldn't wish chronic suicidal desires on anyone.

Very touching story. I'm glad you're in a safe enough space that you can write your thoughts out like this. :pinkiesad2:

9716269
Hey have a little empathy huh?

Well this was well written. Not often a story touches me at all. Gg author.

Best lessons i can share from my life to anyone feeling this way are these.

-Never isolate yourself. We all have a breaking point and we need someone there to catch us when we fall.
-Do not bury yourself in work. Life gets too monotonous if we work too hard without a break and it feeds depression. I know (3 years working 7 days a week with college on top of it)
-Find those people who REALLY care about us. They may not be relatives but, you know who they are because when you are really in trouble they end up there to help whenever they can.
-Do not focus on a distant goal too much. I am especially guilty of this. Focusing too much on long term goals with high standards can feed into low self esteem. Try to focus more on the small goals linking the big ones. It helps it feel more realistic and make you feel a lot better.

This story is great I love it

9716730
Sorry for dealing with being sad with humor I wasn't really trying to be insensitive, though looking at it now it looks hella cringe honestly :twilightblush:

I winced in phantom pain at each arm being cut and was shivering in discomfort at sinking into that hot water with the steam and blood curling around. This story was definitely and painfully evocative, And Wallflower and Sunset coming to terms with things was as sad as it was well-done.

I hadn't heard before that after losing that much blood the body can be stabilised enough to be conscious but can no longer make use of blood transfusions. It may have been helpful to have had the nurse make an off-hand comment about that in particular (assuming, that is, that hemorrhagic/hypovolemic shock isn't just common knowledge I'm only now learning :twilightblush:).

And it's unfortunate that Silver-Quill's concerns about Wallflower's character being forgiven but still ultimately forgotten in subsequent EqG releases appears to still be accurate. :pinkiesad2:

9717223

I hadn't heard before that after losing that much blood the body can be stabilised enough to be conscious but can no longer make use of blood transfusions.

So I did a heckload of searching for anything on this topic. The main issue I came across is that there are very few studies on patients whose suicide attempts end in a hospice situation. These are the studies I looked at before writing this, and I'll explain my conclusion below. Yes, I'm entirely aware this is unnecessary but I did all this dang research and now I have an excuse to talk about it so SIT DOWN Y'ALL.

A retrospective case series of suicide attempts leading to hospice admission

Palliative Care After Attempted Suicide in the Absence of Premorbid Terminal Disease

The summary of these articles is that a lack of research makes any definitive conclusions difficult, to say the least. That being said, a common trend with patients who awaken after suffering from hemorrhagic shock for any reason is the presence of anemic hypoxia and/or anoxia, which are an insufficient amount of and/or complete absence of oxygen in the brain, respectively.

Every minute the patient is in a state of hypoxia/anoxia, their chance of survival drops significantly. There does exist a "sweet spot" with these conditions where a patient can wake up, be cognizant and aware for a short time, and still be beyond recovery. Again, though, there is very limited documentation regarding this.

For the purposes of this story, I interpreted these studies to mean Wallflower could briefly regain consciousness long enough for her and Sunset to make their peace and say goodbye. It's within the realm of possibility according to the (again, very sparce) data I found, and this is a fictional story. Its purpose is to explore the emotional struggles forced upon the characters during Wallflower's slow, inevitable death at her own hand. The scenario—however uncommon it may be in real life—is really only a means to that end.

I hope this explains my thinking well enough. Also, don't you FRICKING dare say Wally won't have any more scenes in the show. She's a precious little angel and she will get all the Love, Respect And Character Development she deserves.

I literally cannot read this past the one-quarter mark, as it's making me more than a tad physically uncomfortable. Well done?

9717448
I understand. All the graphic scenes are contained within the first third of the story, with the rest being almost entirely dialogue. While going into so much macabre detail does enhance that dialogue, it is not necessary to understand the story, and I've heard from a few people who also chose to skip it entirely.

All that is to say, there's nothing wrong with deciding this story isn't for you. And, I'm sorry for making you so uncomfortable.

9717301

I wouldn't say that she won't, just that I'd sure like it if she did and that I'm still waiting. :ajsleepy: I didn't mean to sound defeatist.

9717454
I mean, I honestly want to read it, but I got too queasy. Eh, maybe I'll try again later.

EDIT: Got through it, was moved.

I wasn't expecting to tear up at this. I've read plenty of fics involving suicide but... ugh, damn tears. The whole thing at the end was sweet and really heartbreaking. Good job though, I guess that's probably what you meant to do. And uh... yup. I'm sad now. :fluttershysad:

This was horribly depressing. I mean that in the best way possible.

This is a story where, despite this being tagged as Tragedy and all, and sort of knowing the ultimate ending, there's hope to be found yet. It's a difficult thing to pull off without the narrative coming across as melodramatic/sappy/outright badly written, but it works well in this story because the characters sell it.

Yes, of course the cutting and the bathtub help it in that respect, but it's honestly the conversation that really did it, I think. You have a character so far removed and a character so thoroughly invested, but the roles are swapped from what you'd normally see in these sorts of things, and that interaction makes a world of difference.

Anyway. I liked this. I'm as excited as ever to read the next thing you publish.

I... Wow. I don't think I've ever been moved to tears by any sort of writing until now, so consider that a compliment.
And, if it's alright, I'd like to relate a personal story of my own:
A couple months back, I was not in a good place. I was stuck in a place I didn't want to be, chasing a job I didn't want, with an education that had been horribly derailed, with only enough friends to be counted on one hand, none of whom I'd met in real life and whom I couldn't even contact regularly due to the circumstances, and it didn't help that I sucked at making friends to begin with. Long story short, I felt like I'd hit rock bottom. I was, on all counts, a failure to my family, and trapped in the passenger seat of my own life. So I decided to take things into my own hands for once.
I chose to hurl myself out an 11th story window. I was this close to an escape. Mercifully, my acrophobia kicked in at the last possible second and forced me to back away. Unfortunately, that wasn't the end of it, and a month later I had a relapse involving a meat cleaver; I had to be physically restrained, and one other person was hurt in the struggle. And while I can't honestly say that things have gotten better, the knowledge that people actually give enough of a damn about me to stop me from making a premature exit is honestly quite a strong motivator to not give up, if only for them.
So, as you can imagine, this fic hit all the right buttons to get a strong emotional response out of me, which definitely means you succeeded as a writer. And speaking as someone who's been in Wallflower's position, everyone needs a Sunset in their lives. :scootangel:

Hopefully the Kevin can bring Wally and Sunny back together.

Isn't taking long for us to get to our money's worth.

I feel as though this fic is educational.

There's a casual stance to all of this evident in Wally, and I suspect that stands out for a reason.

>>Wallflower rose the blade to her wrist and took a deep, deep breath

Raised* ?

Hey, she "cried out." Must be hard to remain stoic, even if this is something that someone wants to do. The assumed mental image is of complete silence while slitting, but I suppose that's not how it works.

How much copper is there in the blood? I'm asking for a friend. I remember as a dumb kid putting pennies in my mouth and that it'd taste the same as putting my tongue to an open sore.

In a situation like this, I wonder to what extent Wally would endeavor to keep her head above the bathwater.

Would no feelings of anxiety cross her mind at this juncture? No thoughts of fear or regret at all? I suppose I simply cannot fathom the mind of such a person.

You're a smart cookie--is a throbbing headache true to experiencing terminal bloodloss? I wonder if research or experience has gone into this or both.

>>Terror gripped her slow-beating heart as she observed the thick bandages that were wrapped around her arms, going all the way up to her elbows.

*There's* the anxiety.

Clara Barton?

>>“Of course... It won’t make much difference either way.”

I wonder how many nurses would throw away etiquette with a line like this. Asking again for a friend.

This is an emotional nurse.

This fic is nicely condensed. We've only had two line breaks and the action doesn't feel too terribly rushed. Sign of good pacing.

```Wallflower had heard the ever-so-popular stories about jumpers changing their minds mid-fall, or some variation on the cliche. As she blinked—damn it—at the stained bandages again, she wondered why she was the exception. Perhaps those stories were just fiction espoused by people who had never struggled with wanting to die. Perhaps she was just more determined to end.```

I was wondering about that cliche this entire time reading. Good way to comment on it.

>>Wallflower glared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

Lulz.

>>“No you can’t,” Wallflower droned. “No one can help me anymore. You heard what she said.”

No offense to nurses, but I'm guessing there was a *doctor* who confirmed this off-screen.

I wonder if this is really happening, or if--instead--it's just a nihilistic fantasy in Wally's depressed mind in which she accomplishes something with 90% success and the only person she knows in life is so easily broken down by a one-sided argument in Wally's favor. I don't think Sunset has ever truly "thought of" what Wally have thought of. I suspect many people fantasize about suicide as a means of magically ending their pain, anxieties, burdens, etc. The Wally of this fic is cut from a different cloth: she simply wants to *end*. All symptoms of living be damned.

Sobering how they touch upon all the "what if" scenarios of Sunset and Wally meeting before the act was done or how Sunny is gonna live with the regrets of this whole shindig.

>>“I’ll do it,” Sunset said suddenly, her face lighting up with determination. “I promise you, Wallflower. I’ll get everyone’s memories back.”

Do I smell a sequel?

I'm starting to wonder if Wallflower's emotions for her parents are potentially undeserved.

>>“I-I’ve been ready for a long time. I j-just wish... I wish I'd never wanted to at all.”

Hmmm...

This would be an entirely different fic at all if Wally "goes to sleep," then wakes back up while Sunset's having a piss break, then dies in complete and utter bitterness.

>>The sounds of Sunset’s cries were softer now, and even the ringing in her ears was fading away.

I kinda feel like you could have introduced tinnitus way... waaaaaaay sooner. But--again--that's probably a different fanfic. Maybe a more personal one, if that can be believed.

I still feel that Sunset here is less of a Sunset and more of a fill-in so that we can draw out Wallflower's perspective on matters. The Sunset of canon EqG is a perfect Mary Sue angel who would fight tooth and nail to prevent something like this from befalling Wally. But reality isn't truly that idyllic. Thank Nietzsche for slash fanfiction. Er... you know what I mean.

Maybe I'm biased, but I feel that the bulk of your stuff (which I have read) doesn't come across as "waaaa-waaaaaa" angsty/edgy/emo sad-fests. There's a certain degree of cold, cerebral logic to the stuff you write. It takes an angle that is less emotional, more contemplative, and certifiably un-kaizo. You're not about using melodrama to extract empathy... but rather reflecting bleak circumstances for what they are. Bleak. Rather ironic that a story about wrist-slitting would be far less concerned with having an "edge." I suppose that marks the difference between thought experiments and Link Park songfics (I've no clue what the kids are listening to these days).

We used to be so hard. But in our heads we're still screamin' and runnin' through the yard.

Kudos to the author's note.

This actually reminded me of an overdose I had, where I was hospitalized and was afraid to fall asleep because I could feel how fucked up my body and head was from the, y’know, high. I was told that I was lucky to have arrived when I did even if I threw up in their bathroom.

Honestly, I really appreciate the research angles you took for this too.

You put a lot of work into this, and it definitely shows! Glad I got to read this. It makes me happy that people spread awareness about how bad it can get for a person.

Oh hell...it was almost painful just reading the description of what Wallflower did to herself. We all assumed, and hoped, that Walflower's story did have an ultimately happy ending, but you never really know for sure do you? Hard piece to read, and probably pretty hard to write. Good job.

:fluttercry::raritydespair:
O.m.g. I cried through this, not gonna lie. It actually struck very deep with me, for two reasons. One being my uncle was suicidal and eventually succeeded in it. And two, I've contemplated suicide in my life, but I was lucky enough to have a friend catch the signs before I actually acted on it. I feel Wallflower's pain, and also Sunset's as she watched all this stuff going on.

Hard story, very emotional, and very well written. Great job.

Dang, this was heavy.
I knew from the description it wouldn't end well, but still a bit surprised to see it end on such a downer, and that Wallflower never stopped wanting to die. I was afraid that it'd be sending the wrong message to readers, like 'maybe suicide really is the best option' which... god that hurts to think about.
But then after reading over the comments, I think this kind of story is important, just the way it is, so people don't feel so alone.
The descriptions were... intense, in the beginning, not in the sense of being melodramatic, but how casually it was presented, how real it all felt. It was an intense story all around.
Damn good fic

9878958
Glad you enjoyed it. The possibility of glorifying suicide is a big concern for me with all my stories, especially this one. That realism you lauded requires being in the mind of a character who wants to die, but in doing so there isn't a lot of room for that character to disagree with their own actions. It's up to the rest of the writing to show why suicide isn't worth it in the end.

I agree that stories like this need to exist. This and Best Left Forgotten are very much intended to be bleak, brutally realistic dives into subjects often treated as taboos. Just because something is uncomfortable doesn't mean it's any less real, or any less important to talk about.

This was quite an emotional story. Sunset being there made it really sad and really sweet at the same time.

How strange, she thought, that such a little thing could be used to let her feel nothing ever again.

I feel ambivalent about this line in ways I can't explain.

“If I had, you would have tried to stop me,” Wallflower said.

Good line for reasons I won't explain.

“But I’ve been over that for a long time.”

You made me go look up the statistics.

at least 50% of those who recover from a first episode of depression having one or more additional episodes in their lifetime, and approximately 80% of those with a history of two episodes having another recurrence...recurrent episodes will usually begin within five years of the initial episode

“I really wish you didn’t feel that way,” Sunset said.

“Y-yeah,” Wallflower sighed. “Me too.”

I tried, but I have no words.

“Then you know how important it is that they remember. E-even if it’s after I’m gone...” Wallflower looked up at Sunset, her eyes pleading and desperate. “Please, do whatever it takes to undo what I did. And not just them—everyone, if you can.”

I have problems with this. Not writing or characterization problems--you've done well. I have problems.
9715311
9717301
Thank you for providing links! I was looking for these in the author's when I finished, but this works too. I can accept things like this happening, but I wanted to know if this particular one was grounded in reality. Bully for you and doing your homework.

Thanks for writing!

Beautifully, horribly evocative, and emotionally gripping as all hell. The tone's dark and bleak, but there's a core of kindness and humanity from the characters (especially Sunset and her promise) throughout that gives it that beautiful spark. Nae bad at all.

reading this with the Prelude to Shadows (belgerum's one) was.. suffice to say, not a good idea :fluttercry:

As far as I’m concerned, this is the benchmark for FIMFic tragedy. Other stories inevitably get compared to this, and whenever I want to be hit with a freight train of sadness my first thought is always “well just re-read The Time We Have Left”. You pack a lot of meaning into a single chapter, you never pull your punches, and the ending is utterly heartbreaking because you know right from the start that it’s inevitable.

Even though the story starts off moments before Wallflower’s suicide attempt, it’s painfully clear that this isn’t being done on a whim. From the description of her room to the preparation she’s done by deciding on a method and even researching the blood-thinning effects of aspirin, this is a decision that’s been considered and carefully thought through, as horrible as it is to say.

Your actual description of her suicide was… really difficult to read. The detail to her cutting made me feel ill (and I mean that as a compliment), while her death being “like she always hoped it would be” is just awful to think about.

This was a hospital. She was in a hospital. It didn’t work.

Brilliant and horrifying at the same time. You don’t use repetition much in the story, which is what makes it so much more effective when it's used as Wallflower’s coming to. It’s not just realisation, it’s mounting dread.

You write Sunset brilliantly too – someone who, even though she’s been in a dark place herself, instinctively rejects the idea that it’s happened to someone else. Contrasted with Wallflower’s cold, brutal, but ultimately reasonable logic, it almost seems that Wallflower is helping Sunset come to terms with reality at times.

I’ve always hugely respected authors who do research into the stories they write. The fact that you’ve looked at medical journals to investigate the effects of anoxia and the plausibility of being conscious while having sustained lethal injuries deserves recognition.

“What’s your goal here, Sunset?”

Holy shit. What I said about you not pulling your punches? Yeah. This.

The only problem I have with the story isn’t even a complaint about the story. Sunset promising to fix things with the Memory Stone made me wince. Wallflower said it herself: They didn’t know if it was possible, and yet Sunset made a promise to a dying girl without knowing if it could even be kept. But it’s a fair thing to write – in the heat of the moment, it’s easy to make unreasonable promises in a desperate attempt to help.

And just to top off the tragedy, even though the two have reconciled, even though Wallflower’s arguably in a much better mental state, she’s still comfortable with the idea of dying. Again, it just hammers home that this wasn’t some stupid spur-of-the-moment thing, but an acceptance that yes, this was how her life was going to end.

So yeah. Wall of text later, this is great in so many ways that I want to go into, and so many more ways that I don’t. Thank you for writing it.

9715311
Basically the entire article you linked there doesn't really agree with your conclusion. Dropping the body temp, inducing coma, vent & VAD, pushing whole blood would have had a fairly reasonable rate of survival. They would not have given up that readily, nor would she have ever woken up if that was the case to begin with. If the blood pressure / oxygenation drops low enough for unconsciousness, that's it barring external circumstances like pushing whole blood and support drugs, which would have lead to a really fairly high rate of survival.


The aspirin is the real one here. Hemorrhagic shock has a fairly high resusc rate. Downing a whole bottle of aspirin though is less "blood thinning" and more "fail-deadly". Popping aspirin is a hell of a way to go. You will wake up in the hospital and think you survived, but no, your organs are actively failing and there's nothing they can do, and it's going to hurt the entire time you die.

10205054
yeah but you gotta understand that I'm a shitty writer with no idea what she's doing and I just wanted to project my stupid angst okay :v

also, for what it's worth:

this is a fictional story. Its purpose is to explore the emotional struggles forced upon the characters during Wallflower's slow, inevitable death at her own hand. The scenario—however uncommon it may be in real life—is really only a means to that end.

As she waited for the water to heat up, she tested the razor’s edge by drawing a few thin lines across her wrist. The cuts didn’t really hurt and were barely deep enough to draw blood, but the sight of redness bubbling up from her skin was satisfying as ever.

Isn’t it though?

Login or register to comment