Today I am transparent. My skin is an open window to what is brewing inside. You will see rainbows, flowers and perhaps golden drops of sunshine. But maybe, Maybe that’s just a curtain. Shrouding what’s really happening inside. Maybe inside, there’s a scared little girl, cowering in the corner; Drenched in her own tears. . .and blood. And all you do is sit and stare as she sobs, curled up in her tiny ball of vulnerability. She’s naked in her sorrows, baring her scars to the world and you do nothing about it. Ignore it like it’s a passing phase. She’s the girl you saw everyday, walking through the hallway, with her head tipped back and laughter pouring out of her mouth like poison. You see her. You see her every single day. But you don’t look. You don’t look close enough. And maybe, maybe if you did, you’d see the pain in her eyes and the strain in her voice. Maybe you’d notice how her hands were clenched and shaking by her sides. How her nails dug into the skin of her palms, enough to draw blood. She’s the girl, who you see everyday, but forget about the next. Yes. She’s THAT girl. Invisible to the world, merely a tiny spec of dust. When you see her, you see what you want. Somehow, her image is what you decide it to be. You notice her rear, you notice her chest. But you fail to realise that there’s so much more to her than just that. Perhaps if you looked, you’d notice how her eyes sparkle when she’s happy, or how her hair flies around her face when she laughs, like a photo frame, encapsulating her mirth. Her beauty.
But you don’t.
And maybe that’s what lead to the moment we’re at right now. And you don’t know why she did what she did. You carry on with your life in the same monotone. You laugh with your friends and perhaps comment on another such girl in the hallway. But you don’t know what YOU did. She did what she did because you made her do it. You might not know it, but in her mind it’s you that pulled the trigger. You were her anchor, but she was already drowning. You pulled her down to the depths and you took away her oxygen. And you don’t even know it. And yes, today I speak because I’m letting everyone know who I am. I am that girl. The same girl you passed in the hallway everyday. The girl you saw, but didn’t notice. The girl you saw every single day, but forgot about the next.
The girl you murdered.
Maybe suicide is what they call it, but what it really is, is cold blooded murder. And I finally realise, That today, As I lay in this tub, with my blood running down my wrists, pooling around me, Today, I am transparent.
– Aarya Sohal, 11A