Shattered [wip story]

The rain beat down on me like sharp slaps on the back. My clothes clinging to my wet skins, I let my dark brown hair hang over my face, blocking my eyes from the view below. I turned my head to look down behind my curtain of hair at the paved driveway under me. It was so tempting, like it was calling me. I instantly leaned back. Three stories, what a fall it would be. But what did I have to lose? Nothing. I was already a miserable orphan, and no one could care less. The therapists just pretended to help because of the pay. They didn’t care. Their patient could’ve lost an eyeball right in front of them, but they wouldn’t care.

Frowning, I furrowed my brows. No one was home. If I was going to do it, I was going to have to do it fast and now. I shut my eyes. Tighter, and tighter. Then, I jumped. The beat of the wind gusted past me as I plummeted down to the ground, waiting for it. Then, it happened. I hit the ground with such a force it immediately knocked the breath out of me. I lay on my back, gasping for breath, withering in pain from the broken bones and the beat of my head. It felt like my brain was about to explode. I was so stupid. Of course when you’re still in the planning part of suicide, throwing yourself off the roof seems like a practical idea. But in actuality, it hurt like hell. I yelled out in pain.

Blood spilled around me, forming a pool of scarlet red liquid. I moaned, tears forming at my eyes. Was this was suicide felt like? What running from life felt like? Or was I just cursed with a horrible life? I didn’t care anymore. I was already in a spastic motion, my body jerking around the pavement like a bull. I was at a screech by then. By that time, the sirens were already wailing in the distance. No, anything but the ambulance. Oh God no. I cried to myself, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Then the ambulance came. I could barley hear then yelling, the blood was pumping too loudly against my ears, but I could see them through my teary-eyed vision. They were pointing to me, stress lining their faces. I could feel them pick me up and strap me to the stretcher, boarding me into the back of the van in a wild frenzy. I shut my eyes, refusing to respond. I didn’t want to see my bloody body. I didn’t want to see the bones sticking out of my legs, the back bruises, and my shattered shoulder. I didn’t want to be here.

I wanted to be dead.