(no subject)
She Died
She died. My Autumn died. It wasn’t her fault, not hers, not her mother’s, not her baby sister, not mine; none of our mutual friends, not even a grain of sugar can be blamed. No body is to blame but that doesn’t mean we don’t, we won’t. Age 13 and almost gone, age fourteen and gone, long lost. This isn’t a drink and die driving drunken thing. No one killed her, she didn’t kill herself, though she did attempt to. It wasn’t death in the literal sense but gone none the less and none of us was able to find her. No one was.
It wasn’t our fault, it’s amazing how many times I have tried not to, but still do blame myself for it. But just because it wasn’t our fault, didn’t mean we didn’t still take the blame and cradle it, nurture it, make it a home in our hearts. We couldn’t help ourselves. But we just didn’t see, we had known her so long and yet none of us saw what was happening inside her. Growing up Autumn wasn’t always happy, but that didn’t make her bad. She was expressive, loud and angry, happy and sad all rolled into one. I knew; we all knew that there was a very angry part of her, a sad part to her as well. It seemed to fill the empty parts. I sometimes think that the empty part came from the lack of father, not that I would ever blame her mother or her father. Her mother did enough of that herself. Although trouble did seem to cling to Autumn, she was considered ‘well-adjusted’ by the majority of the faculty at school. They failed; somehow we all failed to see the darkness in her soul growing.
It wasn’t that we didn’t see it. I think it was more that we didn’t want to. It was a part of her and no matter how seemingly calm she always was, it was growing, the unnatural anger thrived and we ignored it. We just didn’t want to see it.
It was her birthday, a warm August day not too humid but nice enough for the sprinklers to be on and run through. A perfect day, friends romping around a house for the fourteenth birthday of one of our good friends; seems more now like a dream, a beautifully horrid dream until the end.
Autumn was fourteen, a big birthday bash which was habitually broadcast at the school. The guests who showed their pretty young faces were greeted by the culprit of horrid events. A cake, beautifully crafted chocolate and vanilla fluffed pastry covered in an array of blue and purple thickened frosting. The true problem with the cake wasn’t the cake itself but the luscious frosting delight and its sugary goodness. There are many people who can’t handle a drink or their medicines leaving them loopy and silly or angered about little things. Sugar was her demon and had been all her life. It’s believed that she had a kind of allergic reaction to the sweet ambrosia. But to this day no one is really sure what caused her to let loose that night.
As Mother, Autumn’s mother, as we would often refer to her as, left something seemed to trail her black hair and essentially angelic aura; a calm and purity seemed to drift away, slowly at first but growing in its empty remembrance, a hole unfilled. The younger girl, Autumn’s baby sister, only seemed to feel a portion of the safety leave with her mother. In only a few short hours this little one would be older on the inside than her peers in a class. Four or five hours, dragging on bringing horror and leading to a smaller and smaller ray of hope, would be longer than any of us would ever imagine.
The living room was packed with noisy teens and pre-teens dancing to the latest fad boy band of the day. Now I can’t remember who they were or what they sang only that we all loved them for some bizarre reason. While waiting for the movies mother had promised, we cut into the cake, and created a sizable dent. Boys’ names floated through the rooms of the house leaving either a sense of anger or awe in toe. As time passed and each friend, in her own way, noted a difference in the petite, black haired birthday girl, anger grew as did anxious behavior, twisting this sweet angel’s facial features.
Fallen angel. That’s what she was; from angel to demon in seconds flat it seemed, although maybe we all realize now that it wasn’t seconds, it was years. Autumn never really knew her father very well; it was Daisy’s father she had known. But that really hadn’t helped, or so it seems. Autumn’s sanity was shot at a young age we now realize, her father left and dragged the sanity piece by piece away with him. Screams echoed throughout the deserted neighborhood. Things Autumn, the real Autumn would have regretted thinking never mind saying. But they still escaped the red lips, which there is no Revlon shade for such a unique color. Her pain struck each young girl’s heartstrings and plucked out little tunes of agony. Why didn’t we see her anger? Why couldn’t we see the anger? I suppose we didn’t want to see it. I look back now and I think I realized how much pain she truly was in and no matter the cry, no one came to rescue her. No knight in shining armor for my damsel in distress. No savior. I have failed her cries.
It seemed as if Mother was gone so much longer than the five hours it truly was. Night came upon us, dark, cold and lonely. With the wings of despair brought with it a beam of hope, strong though so small and insignificant. We found, hid, and did our best to disarm our dear friend. She would always found something else. The littlest one, older yet smaller took the child to a room safe from fear, hopefully. But nothing is truly safe. No one is truly safe, from anything. But you can’t help but try. No one can help but try. So we hid her away, in a closet, then joining the others tried so hard to be strong, some making a desperate attempt to stop her. Almost unsuccessful.
Poor Autumn. She wanted, needed so badly to hurt herself. To feel. She screamed for the ability to feel something, anything. The three oldest girls, Jess, Jen and I had stolen Daisy away with Jen in the closet, as far away from Autumn’s horrid rantings as possible. Jen tried her best to keep Daisy calm and herself from bursting into hive riden tears. Jess and I, along with others hid knives, forks, spoons, anything and everything which Autumn could improvise into a weapon against herself. Something seemed to snap in Autumn, a rubber band must have finally broken inside her laden mind. Before we could get to it, the bathroom was over taken by the soured girl. Pills were her last resort and so down the hatch they went dribbling down her young esophagus to the inner belly of a teen. The door had been locked immediately behind her but now it was open, and with it the door swung open slowly carefully. Autumn cried out as did the rest of her entourage. The first to grab the phone was Tammy who dialed, or attempted to dial 911 but seemed to constantly hit the wrong buttons. Jess took it from her, stealing the attempt to save their friend. Tammy lost herself and bawled on the floor in a pile of tears and trembling with childhood new time memories which would keep us all up for years to come. Nothing could push those vivid irritants out of our minds, no sound, no sight could gouge then from our inner eyes. Sirens, smells, vivid, and stagnant, they would stay with us; always.
They came. Just in time to save the day. Autumn’s first knights didn’t arrive in shining armor, or on horse back, but in an ambulance white and pristine. To the hospital after strapping her to a cot, which took two of the three of them to do; Autumn thrashed not daring to give up the fight, almost as if the knights were dark and evil, there to harm her and kidnap her from her love, her prince. After fifteen minutes an end was made; with Autumn in binds and the poor helpful servants of the hospital in matching pairs of black eyes.
Time didn’t seem to go fast in the next two days. Classes seemed to drag on and life at home was even worse. No one would tell any of us anything. But Autumn wasn’t around. She was missing. The teachers never mentioned anything but still the rumors were flying through the halls like little paper airplanes, unseen and flitting unnoticed by teachers’ flaring nostrils.
“Autumn isn’t coming back Will.”
“What do you mean?” I was confused and angry all at once. Autumn wasn’t going to be around anymore and that was all my mother and father was going to tell me. She was gone. I now don’t think anyone knew where she was. I asked her mother, her sister, and our friends. But no one knew.
It wasn’t until a week after the dreadful incident that I found her. Well sort of. A note appeared under my door while I was the only one home. I still can’t believe what it said. She apologized for everything and said she was gone for good, so she wouldn’t hurt people she loved, wouldn’t break the relationships anymore. We couldn’t understand, our friends read each note to each of us. They were all so personal and so loving. None of us could believe she ran away and yet there was the proof in each of our hands written out in the old familiar handwriting. Signed sealed and delivered. It didn’t matter that she was never the kind to run from problems. She hadn’t been herself the last time we all saw her. Our Autumn was long gone.
None of us is the same now, none of us talk. We have all moved on in our own way. The best each of us could. But we are changed. I doubt many of us will see each other again. In a way we also ran. Moved away, physically or emotionally. I wonder sometimes where they could have gone. How they are doing. I wonder if the think of her or me as often as I do. I wonder if it still hurts them; if they suddenly defend a statement, or a song, if they cringe at the sound of skull against wall. I think that it still hurts. It must still hurt somewhere.
Love Hurts they say
Some don’t know how right they are
To see a friend lose herself
And try suicide
While the others try to calm her
You take her sister away
You tell her it’s nothing but a game
You hide her in a cave
When she realizes the truth behind her eyes,
Her pain is realized
The tears begin to flow
And it’s hard to keep you cool
Each cry from her sister
Echoes in your ears
The knife of love hacks bloody blows
You hear people joke
To be or not to be
But you know how hard it is to deal
Every time you hear a bang
Your heart begins to sink
The cold, the dark comes flying back
And suddenly alone
Tears seep through
As you relive the memory,
Suicide is painless huh?
You relive my pain
You look into her eyes
See the girl she used to be
Remember when she used to be “ok”
Remember how she saw no future
Feel her pain
See her want to leave
They say love hurts
You. Have. No. Idea.
(W.R.)
Grains of sugar, like sand slip through a glass with perfect figure, and I worry if someone else so close to me has a problem, one I just don’t see or just plain ignore. I lost her. I let her drop I should have picked her up and held her to the stars. I didn’t. I should have been able to save her. Maybe you can’t save everyone but she should have been saved and I wish wherever she is, that she is safe and better off without me. Without my blind eyes which were unable to see the problem, or find the solution. Before I could save her someone needs to save me.
She died. My Autumn died. It wasn’t her fault, not hers, not her mother’s, not her baby sister, not mine; none of our mutual friends, not even a grain of sugar can be blamed. No body is to blame but that doesn’t mean we don’t, we won’t. Age 13 and almost gone, age fourteen and gone, long lost. This isn’t a drink and die driving drunken thing. No one killed her, she didn’t kill herself, though she did attempt to. It wasn’t death in the literal sense but gone none the less and none of us was able to find her. No one was.
It wasn’t our fault, it’s amazing how many times I have tried not to, but still do blame myself for it. But just because it wasn’t our fault, didn’t mean we didn’t still take the blame and cradle it, nurture it, make it a home in our hearts. We couldn’t help ourselves. But we just didn’t see, we had known her so long and yet none of us saw what was happening inside her. Growing up Autumn wasn’t always happy, but that didn’t make her bad. She was expressive, loud and angry, happy and sad all rolled into one. I knew; we all knew that there was a very angry part of her, a sad part to her as well. It seemed to fill the empty parts. I sometimes think that the empty part came from the lack of father, not that I would ever blame her mother or her father. Her mother did enough of that herself. Although trouble did seem to cling to Autumn, she was considered ‘well-adjusted’ by the majority of the faculty at school. They failed; somehow we all failed to see the darkness in her soul growing.
It wasn’t that we didn’t see it. I think it was more that we didn’t want to. It was a part of her and no matter how seemingly calm she always was, it was growing, the unnatural anger thrived and we ignored it. We just didn’t want to see it.
It was her birthday, a warm August day not too humid but nice enough for the sprinklers to be on and run through. A perfect day, friends romping around a house for the fourteenth birthday of one of our good friends; seems more now like a dream, a beautifully horrid dream until the end.
Autumn was fourteen, a big birthday bash which was habitually broadcast at the school. The guests who showed their pretty young faces were greeted by the culprit of horrid events. A cake, beautifully crafted chocolate and vanilla fluffed pastry covered in an array of blue and purple thickened frosting. The true problem with the cake wasn’t the cake itself but the luscious frosting delight and its sugary goodness. There are many people who can’t handle a drink or their medicines leaving them loopy and silly or angered about little things. Sugar was her demon and had been all her life. It’s believed that she had a kind of allergic reaction to the sweet ambrosia. But to this day no one is really sure what caused her to let loose that night.
As Mother, Autumn’s mother, as we would often refer to her as, left something seemed to trail her black hair and essentially angelic aura; a calm and purity seemed to drift away, slowly at first but growing in its empty remembrance, a hole unfilled. The younger girl, Autumn’s baby sister, only seemed to feel a portion of the safety leave with her mother. In only a few short hours this little one would be older on the inside than her peers in a class. Four or five hours, dragging on bringing horror and leading to a smaller and smaller ray of hope, would be longer than any of us would ever imagine.
The living room was packed with noisy teens and pre-teens dancing to the latest fad boy band of the day. Now I can’t remember who they were or what they sang only that we all loved them for some bizarre reason. While waiting for the movies mother had promised, we cut into the cake, and created a sizable dent. Boys’ names floated through the rooms of the house leaving either a sense of anger or awe in toe. As time passed and each friend, in her own way, noted a difference in the petite, black haired birthday girl, anger grew as did anxious behavior, twisting this sweet angel’s facial features.
Fallen angel. That’s what she was; from angel to demon in seconds flat it seemed, although maybe we all realize now that it wasn’t seconds, it was years. Autumn never really knew her father very well; it was Daisy’s father she had known. But that really hadn’t helped, or so it seems. Autumn’s sanity was shot at a young age we now realize, her father left and dragged the sanity piece by piece away with him. Screams echoed throughout the deserted neighborhood. Things Autumn, the real Autumn would have regretted thinking never mind saying. But they still escaped the red lips, which there is no Revlon shade for such a unique color. Her pain struck each young girl’s heartstrings and plucked out little tunes of agony. Why didn’t we see her anger? Why couldn’t we see the anger? I suppose we didn’t want to see it. I look back now and I think I realized how much pain she truly was in and no matter the cry, no one came to rescue her. No knight in shining armor for my damsel in distress. No savior. I have failed her cries.
It seemed as if Mother was gone so much longer than the five hours it truly was. Night came upon us, dark, cold and lonely. With the wings of despair brought with it a beam of hope, strong though so small and insignificant. We found, hid, and did our best to disarm our dear friend. She would always found something else. The littlest one, older yet smaller took the child to a room safe from fear, hopefully. But nothing is truly safe. No one is truly safe, from anything. But you can’t help but try. No one can help but try. So we hid her away, in a closet, then joining the others tried so hard to be strong, some making a desperate attempt to stop her. Almost unsuccessful.
Poor Autumn. She wanted, needed so badly to hurt herself. To feel. She screamed for the ability to feel something, anything. The three oldest girls, Jess, Jen and I had stolen Daisy away with Jen in the closet, as far away from Autumn’s horrid rantings as possible. Jen tried her best to keep Daisy calm and herself from bursting into hive riden tears. Jess and I, along with others hid knives, forks, spoons, anything and everything which Autumn could improvise into a weapon against herself. Something seemed to snap in Autumn, a rubber band must have finally broken inside her laden mind. Before we could get to it, the bathroom was over taken by the soured girl. Pills were her last resort and so down the hatch they went dribbling down her young esophagus to the inner belly of a teen. The door had been locked immediately behind her but now it was open, and with it the door swung open slowly carefully. Autumn cried out as did the rest of her entourage. The first to grab the phone was Tammy who dialed, or attempted to dial 911 but seemed to constantly hit the wrong buttons. Jess took it from her, stealing the attempt to save their friend. Tammy lost herself and bawled on the floor in a pile of tears and trembling with childhood new time memories which would keep us all up for years to come. Nothing could push those vivid irritants out of our minds, no sound, no sight could gouge then from our inner eyes. Sirens, smells, vivid, and stagnant, they would stay with us; always.
They came. Just in time to save the day. Autumn’s first knights didn’t arrive in shining armor, or on horse back, but in an ambulance white and pristine. To the hospital after strapping her to a cot, which took two of the three of them to do; Autumn thrashed not daring to give up the fight, almost as if the knights were dark and evil, there to harm her and kidnap her from her love, her prince. After fifteen minutes an end was made; with Autumn in binds and the poor helpful servants of the hospital in matching pairs of black eyes.
Time didn’t seem to go fast in the next two days. Classes seemed to drag on and life at home was even worse. No one would tell any of us anything. But Autumn wasn’t around. She was missing. The teachers never mentioned anything but still the rumors were flying through the halls like little paper airplanes, unseen and flitting unnoticed by teachers’ flaring nostrils.
“Autumn isn’t coming back Will.”
“What do you mean?” I was confused and angry all at once. Autumn wasn’t going to be around anymore and that was all my mother and father was going to tell me. She was gone. I now don’t think anyone knew where she was. I asked her mother, her sister, and our friends. But no one knew.
It wasn’t until a week after the dreadful incident that I found her. Well sort of. A note appeared under my door while I was the only one home. I still can’t believe what it said. She apologized for everything and said she was gone for good, so she wouldn’t hurt people she loved, wouldn’t break the relationships anymore. We couldn’t understand, our friends read each note to each of us. They were all so personal and so loving. None of us could believe she ran away and yet there was the proof in each of our hands written out in the old familiar handwriting. Signed sealed and delivered. It didn’t matter that she was never the kind to run from problems. She hadn’t been herself the last time we all saw her. Our Autumn was long gone.
None of us is the same now, none of us talk. We have all moved on in our own way. The best each of us could. But we are changed. I doubt many of us will see each other again. In a way we also ran. Moved away, physically or emotionally. I wonder sometimes where they could have gone. How they are doing. I wonder if the think of her or me as often as I do. I wonder if it still hurts them; if they suddenly defend a statement, or a song, if they cringe at the sound of skull against wall. I think that it still hurts. It must still hurt somewhere.
Love Hurts they say
Some don’t know how right they are
To see a friend lose herself
And try suicide
While the others try to calm her
You take her sister away
You tell her it’s nothing but a game
You hide her in a cave
When she realizes the truth behind her eyes,
Her pain is realized
The tears begin to flow
And it’s hard to keep you cool
Each cry from her sister
Echoes in your ears
The knife of love hacks bloody blows
You hear people joke
To be or not to be
But you know how hard it is to deal
Every time you hear a bang
Your heart begins to sink
The cold, the dark comes flying back
And suddenly alone
Tears seep through
As you relive the memory,
Suicide is painless huh?
You relive my pain
You look into her eyes
See the girl she used to be
Remember when she used to be “ok”
Remember how she saw no future
Feel her pain
See her want to leave
They say love hurts
You. Have. No. Idea.
(W.R.)
Grains of sugar, like sand slip through a glass with perfect figure, and I worry if someone else so close to me has a problem, one I just don’t see or just plain ignore. I lost her. I let her drop I should have picked her up and held her to the stars. I didn’t. I should have been able to save her. Maybe you can’t save everyone but she should have been saved and I wish wherever she is, that she is safe and better off without me. Without my blind eyes which were unable to see the problem, or find the solution. Before I could save her someone needs to save me.