Sprained Mind

Her diary? Lynn had at last found an empty sack for her P.E. gear. Tomorrow was Monday. That meant P.E. She dreaded it. The "stray" balls and unappreciated critisims. Constantly being scrutinised, she knew they were waiting, hungry, for an opportunity to unleash their cruelty, to inflict it upon her until she would succumb to it and request a visit to the toilet. She knew Ms. Fallon was becoming very annoyed, as were most of her other teachers. If she could claim some medical condition . . . but they would ask for a note, from Aishling, Lynn's mother.

Why her? What had she done? When had it begun? Lynn could not remember. Her long forgotten, abandoned, diary teased and taunted her. It's revenge. It knew something Lynn did not. She scanned it's cover waiting for the answers to reveal themselves, but instead, another question. Why have I left you for so long? Lynn sighed and allowed the small notebook to escape her hold.

She returned her attention to emptying the bag. She pulled it into her. Reaching inside, her hand found something soft. She gasped as she pulled out the light cream-colored pants Aish had been looking for . . . Dark patches of coagulated blood adorned them. The gush of blood. Reaching in again and barely daring to look, she pulled out the kitchen knife. The glint of the blade. Which was streaked with her blood. Suddenly all the sounds of the house hit her ears with full force. Every thump, click, buzz and splash was magnified three times over with the fear any moment someone would open the door . . .

Her mind flashed with memories. The cool metal of the blade, as you pressed it into your soft flesh. The feeling of your skin tearing cleanly apart in obedience to the blade. The heady knowledge you may, if you allow yourself, end your life tonight before pain sweeps over your body paralyzing your mind allowing you to escape. Finally, you ease the knife off your arm, appreciating being able to feel the warm gush of blood flowing freely down to your fingertips. You too full, of the struggle between the mind's wish to let go and the body's will to survive, to care for anything, before you collapse with their compromise.

"Funny," her voice came out husky, hushed, slow and deliberate with the mind numbing realization of what she had done. " Admitting what I've done hurts far more than doing it."

Lynn gazed up at the ceiling her eyes glazed over not really seeing anything. It had been like this for about half an hour. She was thinking, about the day and what it held for her. What day was it? Tuesday? No. Monday.
The alarm went off. She turned to face it with the same empty stare. It was six o' clock. A cold shiver ran through her. She got up, stretched and started to search for the school uniform.

The jumper was olive green, the school's color, there was a green and navy stripped tie and finally the dull grey, pleated skirt. She began to pull on the garnments slowly, carefully, taking note of every sensation that the qualities of the materials gave her.

The water boiled and she poured it into the milky liquid that was waiting to embrace the water. She anticipated the change from cold to sudden passion the water would bring to the liquid and withdrew her hand from the smooth, curved surface of the cup.

That was an hour ago . . . and now? Lynn stared down at her tea. It was stone cold. She took a hesitant gulp, cringed and set the cup back down on her lap. She took a gulp of air and there was a barely audible whine, a hiccup, then Lynn watched the first tear run down her face and plunge into the tea.

His cough sounded suspiciously like something else. She looked at him through the corner of her eye . They were lined up at either side of the corridor. Almost like a guard of honor. The boy she had looked at hopped behind his friend and clutched at his sleeve. The others laughed at him and sneered at her. Everyday it was the same, they never tired of her. She continued down the corridor. Trying to hold herself back. Conscious of every move she made. She did not want to give anything away or let them know how much they hurt her. Did Lynn want to admit how much they hurt her? She could still hear them laughing as she pushed her way into the school library.

It was a small room with a few tables and chairs. She looked at her watch. 13:35. She wanted to get back to class, she wished lunch were over. She sat somewhere in the middle of the empty room and pulled out her Irish book from her sack and started on her homework.

The scene outside re-established it was summertime. The girls lay in the grassy banks overlooking the football pitch and the boys played out their frustration, formed from confinement at a desk for most of the day, by lashing out at the football yeilding before them. All the while shouts and laughter from the students outside wafted into the library, where the only movement and noise came from the librarian tapping at the keys on the keyboard, and Lynn realized maybe she'd like to sit out there and lap up the contentment of friends.

She put her head down and forced herself into her Irish work. It was very unsatisfying work and to Lynn incredibly insignificant. She already felt herself becoming frustrated and exasperated with both herself and the work set out for her. Time dragged and Lynn was anxious for the bell to ring as she continued to frustrate herself further. At last the bell managed to ring, signifying the end of lunch. She began thinking about what route to take to her next class, History, where Lynn could relax but not yet she still had corridors to walk before she would reach the classroom.

Home. Home was her room. It's comforting, familiar scent hung in the air and clung to her senses. Lynn shut her door. Cedar wood. The incense supposedly created a heavy serenity. Lynn gladly lost herself in its enveloping atmosphere. She paused a moment to savour it. She flung her sack onto the floor, leapt onto her bed and snuggled into her pillow. She was almost at a state of sleep when her peace was shattered.

Lynn was shaking, uncontrollably. Sobs racked through her body, making her feel hollow and empty. There was a dull pain in her abdomen and her heart felt like it was being torn apart by some sadistic demon inside her, consumed by it's malicious intentions. She was choking on large, rapid intakes of air that were expelled just as quickly as inhaled and were expelled with a moan that would rival the mournful howling of a lone wolf. Her fingers tightened and relaxed on her knees as if trying to keep hold onto some small piece of clarity, sanity, reality, before she raised clenched fists and lashed out and pumelled her knees, shattering all three.

Some part of her, some small, tiny, part of her, had, through all this , somehow, managed to hold on to it's logic. It told her she had never, in all her life, cried like this before. It was shocked and scared by this but also strangely intrigued by her actions and it spurred her on, to continue, through the night, until the stars themselves feigned a rest, of sorts.

It was still, whatever had possesed her was gone but it had left behind a knowledge. A knowledge of what must be done. Not yet, not now but tomorrow, perhaps. Lynn had to take care of some things. Lynn nodded to her reflected image so as to confirm the decision she had made but right now her cheekbones ached and her eyes were swollen. There were bruises on her knees and Aish was moving about upstairs. Not now, Lynn had some goodbyes to take care of.

She was poked and prodded by students at school who did not completely hate her and probbed extensively by the teaching staff. She assured all she was fine but continued to appear troubled and preoccupied. She was working on a letter,


Dear Nermie,

I am sorry I haven't written to you for over two moons and I'm afraid you may not hear from me again for a very long time. I just wanted to . . .

"A squared plus b squared equals c squared, Sir!" It would have to wait.

Miss Natille Szaphie,
96 Bluebell Rue,

The evelope stared up at her, along with the others. Her handwriting appeared distant to Lynn, but everything she knew intimately, today, appeared strange to her, even her room. She glanced around the four walls. It seemed to Lynn to showcase her life. The books she possesed, all telling tales of her intrests and desires. Her pictures, clearly displaying her emotions, thoughts and feelings. Today Lynn saw these as if she were another being, not Lynn and finally she began to see . . . why.

She glanced at the floor, everything was ready. . . She just had one final decision that needed to be made. She was certain Aish would be more than willing to post them for her, as long as she uderstood. Ofcourse Lynn could always post them herself but, if she were unsucessful, then she could not undo the harm she would have caused. No, Aish will post them for me.

So Lynn placed them atop of her desk and waited until it was time. She knelt before the blade and ran her fingers along it. She had never used a stanley knife before but had seen it in action and had no doubt it would make her task easier, quicker. She lit a candle, she lifted her blade, prepared herself and . . .