All in the Attempt
Title: All in the Attempt
Fandom: Original Fic
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,020
Content Notes: contemplation of suicide
Prompts: Hurt Comfort: Suicide Attempt
Cotton Candy: The Little Things
Kellie had made a lot of lists and put them where people would find them, after. She had carefully considered where her favorite books should go, which of her nieces should get which piece of heirloom jewelry that Kellie had inherited from her mother, and which of her sisters should get the full set of bone china Kellie still had in the boxes, unopened since her shower, wedding and divorce.
She had kept each and every rejection letter in a colorful box from the craft store that had been designed to hold 4x6 photographs. The box was nearly full now. A bright and cheery looking box full of knife slashes to her confidence.
Her house was neat and tidy. She would not leave a big mess for anyone to take care of later. She had cleaned from top to bottom after the last letter had come and she had come to a decision. There was no money left in the bank, she had gone through her whole savings account. Before the rejection letters for the novels and short stories had piled up there had been the letters thanking her for her resume but rejecting her for a job. No prospects.
She knew that she probably should go back to therapy. She should be on medication. But she couldn’t afford it, and she just didn’t have the will to fight for it. That was the problem, she had lost the will to fight.
There didn’t seem to be much point. No one wanted her. Her husband had chosen someone younger, someone thinner. No one called, certainly no one wrote. Her last actual letter had been five years earlier, just before her great Uncle Kip had died. He used to write her letters in a beautiful, flowing longhand, when he passed on, so had an era of her life, the letter writing dribbled to a halt. Kellie was fairly certain that no one would miss her. She would slip out of life quietly, unremarked and mostly unlamented, no longer a burden to her family.
Her will was in order. She had even written out the instructions for her funeral, the steps remembered from planning for her mother not two years past. There was no insurance, not that they would pay under the circumstances. Her policy had lapsed months before when the choice had been eating or paying the bill for what would happen later. Her family could sell her car to pay her expenses, later. They wouldn’t get much for it, but probably enough for a pine box.
She felt lighter, now that she had decided. No one would miss her. She wasn’t hurting anyone, it was better this way.
On the corner of her desk was a box. There was a mock up in it of the children’s book she had done on a whim, pictures she had painted herself and used to tell a simple story of a kitten that loved to dance. Her agent had refused to shop it to the publishers, saying it was not what they had taken her on to do, their agency didn’t deal with it.
She decided to take it to her sister’s house and give it to her niece, Michela. She wanted to see the child one last time, before... she and her sister might not be on speaking terms anymore, but she missed the child.
When she pulled up in the driveway and turned off her old clunker, it rattled as if it were dying, announcing her presence. A small figure appeared at the front door. Michela. When Michela saw her, she started to jump up and down and clap her hands. Through the glass, Kellie could see her mouthing, “Aunt Kellie, Aunt Kellie!”
She approached the door slowly and Michela opened it and ran out onto the step. She was four on her last birthday, which Kellie had missed because of the rift. “Aunt Kellie!” she cried, and threw her arms around Kellie’s legs, hugging her tightly.
“Hi, Michela Mouse, how are you?” Kellie hugged her and then sat on the step. Her lap was immediately filled with the child.
“What’s that?”
“Well, that is a book. I thought you might like it.” Kellie pulled it out of the box and opened it on her knee so that Michela could see the pictures. Soon, she was reading the story, and her niece was leaning back against her, a thumb stuck in her mouth, listening intently, humming happily as she stroked a hand over the pages.
Maybe one person would miss her. She hugged her niece.
“You should never have stopped painting. That is lovely,” her sister Kayla said from the doorway behind her when she finished. “Why don’t you come in? Have some coffee?”
She supposed her plan could wait a little while longer.
~*~
“When did you know you wanted to do children’s books, Kellie?” a teenager in the front row of the auditorium asked.
“Well, that’s part of why I’m here, doing this presentation. I was at the lowest point in my life, I was ready to give up. I even had a detailed plan of what I was going to do. And then I found a reason to go on one more day. And then another. And since I was going on, I started doing illustration paintings again to fill the time. I started selling my paintings. I went back on my medication and I fired my literary agent and found another. That agent got me a book deal for Kitty Feet.”
The audience started to rumble, most of these kids were old enough to have hadKitty Feet read to them at bedtime.
“I’d say to anyone of you, if you find that you are so low that you want to quit, find yourself that one thing to keep going for. For me, it was a four year old that sat in my lap and asked me to read my story to her again, and again. And then she asked me to draw her more pictures of the kitty. So I did.”
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/
Fandom: Original Fic
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 1,020
Content Notes: contemplation of suicide
Prompts: Hurt Comfort: Suicide Attempt
Cotton Candy: The Little Things
Kellie had made a lot of lists and put them where people would find them, after. She had carefully considered where her favorite books should go, which of her nieces should get which piece of heirloom jewelry that Kellie had inherited from her mother, and which of her sisters should get the full set of bone china Kellie still had in the boxes, unopened since her shower, wedding and divorce.
She had kept each and every rejection letter in a colorful box from the craft store that had been designed to hold 4x6 photographs. The box was nearly full now. A bright and cheery looking box full of knife slashes to her confidence.
Her house was neat and tidy. She would not leave a big mess for anyone to take care of later. She had cleaned from top to bottom after the last letter had come and she had come to a decision. There was no money left in the bank, she had gone through her whole savings account. Before the rejection letters for the novels and short stories had piled up there had been the letters thanking her for her resume but rejecting her for a job. No prospects.
She knew that she probably should go back to therapy. She should be on medication. But she couldn’t afford it, and she just didn’t have the will to fight for it. That was the problem, she had lost the will to fight.
There didn’t seem to be much point. No one wanted her. Her husband had chosen someone younger, someone thinner. No one called, certainly no one wrote. Her last actual letter had been five years earlier, just before her great Uncle Kip had died. He used to write her letters in a beautiful, flowing longhand, when he passed on, so had an era of her life, the letter writing dribbled to a halt. Kellie was fairly certain that no one would miss her. She would slip out of life quietly, unremarked and mostly unlamented, no longer a burden to her family.
Her will was in order. She had even written out the instructions for her funeral, the steps remembered from planning for her mother not two years past. There was no insurance, not that they would pay under the circumstances. Her policy had lapsed months before when the choice had been eating or paying the bill for what would happen later. Her family could sell her car to pay her expenses, later. They wouldn’t get much for it, but probably enough for a pine box.
She felt lighter, now that she had decided. No one would miss her. She wasn’t hurting anyone, it was better this way.
On the corner of her desk was a box. There was a mock up in it of the children’s book she had done on a whim, pictures she had painted herself and used to tell a simple story of a kitten that loved to dance. Her agent had refused to shop it to the publishers, saying it was not what they had taken her on to do, their agency didn’t deal with it.
She decided to take it to her sister’s house and give it to her niece, Michela. She wanted to see the child one last time, before... she and her sister might not be on speaking terms anymore, but she missed the child.
When she pulled up in the driveway and turned off her old clunker, it rattled as if it were dying, announcing her presence. A small figure appeared at the front door. Michela. When Michela saw her, she started to jump up and down and clap her hands. Through the glass, Kellie could see her mouthing, “Aunt Kellie, Aunt Kellie!”
She approached the door slowly and Michela opened it and ran out onto the step. She was four on her last birthday, which Kellie had missed because of the rift. “Aunt Kellie!” she cried, and threw her arms around Kellie’s legs, hugging her tightly.
“Hi, Michela Mouse, how are you?” Kellie hugged her and then sat on the step. Her lap was immediately filled with the child.
“What’s that?”
“Well, that is a book. I thought you might like it.” Kellie pulled it out of the box and opened it on her knee so that Michela could see the pictures. Soon, she was reading the story, and her niece was leaning back against her, a thumb stuck in her mouth, listening intently, humming happily as she stroked a hand over the pages.
Maybe one person would miss her. She hugged her niece.
“You should never have stopped painting. That is lovely,” her sister Kayla said from the doorway behind her when she finished. “Why don’t you come in? Have some coffee?”
She supposed her plan could wait a little while longer.
~*~
“When did you know you wanted to do children’s books, Kellie?” a teenager in the front row of the auditorium asked.
“Well, that’s part of why I’m here, doing this presentation. I was at the lowest point in my life, I was ready to give up. I even had a detailed plan of what I was going to do. And then I found a reason to go on one more day. And then another. And since I was going on, I started doing illustration paintings again to fill the time. I started selling my paintings. I went back on my medication and I fired my literary agent and found another. That agent got me a book deal for Kitty Feet.”
The audience started to rumble, most of these kids were old enough to have hadKitty Feet read to them at bedtime.
“I’d say to anyone of you, if you find that you are so low that you want to quit, find yourself that one thing to keep going for. For me, it was a four year old that sat in my lap and asked me to read my story to her again, and again. And then she asked me to draw her more pictures of the kitty. So I did.”
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/