Sympathy for the Devil

A body hitting pavement sounds like a clap of thunder. It's demanding and greedy. It wants everyone's attention in the surrounding vicinity. The sound echoes throughout the night like a dark beacon. Waking up from a dreamless state, my body sprawled out of my cozy bed. I rose to a bone-chilling nightmare. A wake-up call in the form of a gripping note was placed gingerly on my chest. The contents of the letter would soon pierce my heart like a sharpened dagger. The faint scent of my mother's perfume lingered on the folded piece of paper: vanilla and Amber. I'm sorrywas written in a bold black font. I unfolded the letter to reveal the damning words that turned my dreams into nightmares as I sat up in bed, wide awake. Perspiration slicked my skin, and the note nearly slipped from my hands. Ellie, if you find yourself reading this note, it means I am no longer with you. Parting is never easy. Someday, I hope you will find it within your heart to forgive me for leaving you on this melancholy and confusing note. Unfortunately, I cannot expect you to understand my decision. No one is to blame for my death. But I need to die so that you all can live. Live a long, whole life, one free of regret and sacrifice. I love you all deeply. Love, Mom. A necklace shook loose from the paper. It was silver and had an intricately designed Celtic emblem on one side and a crow on the back. My mom always wore this necklace. She never took it off. The necklace resembled an omen of death and misery. My mom was always a very literal person. The necklace fell from my hands as I realized that she'd meant this as a final gift for me. Those words etched into my mind like a tattoo. They echoed in my ears as if she were right here whispering them to me, but she wasn't here. She was no longer anywhere at all. I felt like the wind had been drained out of my body. The note felt scorching hot in my clammy hands. I dropped it as it sank to the floor with my last ounce of breathable air. The words burned my retinas like a harsh ray of sun. Then came the damning sound of the thud outside my window; the contents were not only damning but soul-crushing. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew that my mother was dead, and in my cold hands were her last words. As I sank to the fluffy white carpet, her last words remained with me and crumbled to the ground like ash from a fire. Reaching for the wastebasket next to my cluttered nightstand, I threw up the minimal contents in my stomach before looking out my bay window to confirm the truth already planted deep inside my darkening mind. My face became drenched in sweat. I felt scorching hot, as if a flame had been lit inside my chest and ignited my heart, shattering it into pieces that could never be mended. My throat was clogged to the brim with mucus. I couldn't breathe as the tears welled to the surface and pooled down my face in large streams. I didn't deserve to breathe if my mother no longer could. Once reaching the window, my suspicions were confirmed as a harsh reality. My mother was dead. Her head broke the surface of the pavement beneath my window. Her brain matter stained the sidewalk a rustic brown. Maggots were already gathering for a late-night snack. Vomit rose to the surface again. It crawled up my throat. I made a few gagging noises as the bile expelled from my lips. My stomach felt queasy, and my body felt weakened by the sight of my mom. Clamping my mouth shut, the vomit broke through the chapped creases of my parted lips and dribbled down my chin. Finally, I collapsed to the ground, vomit smearing across my face and entangling with my hair. My ruby red hair with unruly curls that now matted to the side of my face as vomit stuck the strands like glue to my cheeks. I let out a crushing scream of agony as more vomit was expelled from my throat. My mouth reeked of bile and sadness. There was a desperation to the cries that made me seem like a pathetic, blubbering mess. The bile burned as it rose to the surface, clawing its way out of my mouth. I had never been particularly excellent at expressing my emotions, but now the feelings I've spent forever suppressing rose to the surface. Every bitter and dark thought came to mind. Every memory that once was good now felt like a bitter aftertaste. Good moments seem infinitesimally more diminutive than the bad ones all of a sudden. "Elle," my dad called as he entered my room, his voice still deep with sleep. His voice sounded gruff and distant. "Why are you crying?" He cleared the stiffness from his throat with a cough as he opened my door wide, flicking on the lamplight. He stood at the frame for a beat before taking in my demeanor. My red hair was matted to my face as sweat pooled down my cheeks, mixing with fresh and old tears. My white striped nightshirt had vomit stained all over the front. He stepped closer as I sprang to my feet, blocking my dad's view of the bay window with my body. My frame is too skinny to block the whole of the window, though. A flicker reached the surface of my father's deep-set brown eyes in recognition that something was profoundly and utterly wrong outside my window. "Dad, please do not look out the window. Grab Les and Julian, and please do not look out the window." I pleaded with my hands clapped together, and my lip was protruding. My lip quivered at the thought of anyone else seeing Mom dead. Les's screams mirrored my own, and I knew he saw the remnants of our mother, too. I hung my head low in defeat. I knew that Les would no longer be an innocent twelve-year-old boy. Our innocence died along with our mother. "Elle, what the hell is going on. Why is your brother upset now?" He paused for a beat before asking the following question, which I knew I would dread. "And where is your mother? She isn't in bed, and it's late." "She's sleeping more deeply than the rest of us," I thought as I clamped my mouth shut. A curse slipped through the cracks of my lips as I swore under my breath, realizing that I spoke my inner thoughts aloud. My dad's face paled as I kept speaking pessimistic thoughts. "She's outside. Splattered between our building on Sullivan Street." My face twisted at the brutal confession. Even in times of desperation, I couldn't withhold the harsh truth from my father. I couldn't even keep quiet for long enough to take a shaky breath and clear my convoluted head. My dad is never one to show open affection, being the big bad sheriff of the mean city streets of New York. Still, instead of criticizing me for more details and having his cop brain entirely switched on, he just hugged me, even though my oversized pajama shirt is covered in oatmeal-colored chunky vomit. At this moment, I'm glad he chose his Dad brain. I need my dad more than ever right now. During the darkest hours of the night, there were more cops in my apartment than at the annual cop barbecue held every Fourth of July hosted by my dad. Bennett, my former friend from middle school eventually dove in behind his mom, he clumsily collapsed on me, but I didn't have the energy to care or muster an unsettling glare in his direction tonight. His mom, Sally, works with my dad on the force. For a soccer player, Bennett really lacks grace. A shade of red crept into his light brown complexion. He guiltily held a police radio in his hands, which his mother hastily snatched from him and shot him a disapproving look. I failed to acknowledge his existence as he sat beside me on the couch, which felt like it had a few springs loose. Bennett hugged me because that's what the grieving do, but I chose not to grieve in return. I decided not to reciprocate the hug. Reciprocating the hug meant that tonight is not a dream. It is a blow to my reality. Calamity has reached me, and I am no longer safe. I am no longer stable. My face hardened as I clamped onto the suicide note and crushed the letter into the palm of my hand until the pressure began to form a plump ring that would soon become a jaundiced bruise. Eventually, I was knocked out like a light next to Bennett, who remained by my side. How could sleep come so easily after I witnessed my own mother's demise? I felt guilty to admit that it had come easily. Too easily. But so had the nightmares. The nightmares wouldn't let me dream of a life much better than my own, but rather, each nightmare had, each dream yearned, took me back to the night that she jumped. But it wasn't just her jumping in the dreams; I was there too, jumping in her place, dying over and over again like a horrific type of metamorphosis. Only I was morphing into an asshole. A complete raging asshole. The old Ellie was dead, and Ellie 2.0 is the Ellie everyone wishes had died too. Ellie 2.0's face formed into a constant scowl, making everyone around her just as miserable as she felt. She took pleasure in causing herself pain like a masochist, but the other people who felt the pain and wrath of Ellie 2.0 were just casualties of a long-winded battle. Bennett is the only one who has constantly persisted. More so than when we stopped being friends when we were twelve. We were still friendly with one another, but we gravitated towards separate crowds. I think he felt sorry for me and wanted to be my pity friend, but I always managed to keep him at a safe distance before I spread my pessimism towards Mr. Class President, an optimist with a bright future ahead of him. I would only hold him back. That's one thing that I know for sure. That's all I've ever done. Hold people back. ... The funeral came and went as we mourned over the empty shell of my mother. But it felt like an out-of-body experience. A strange presence lingered over the funeral. I saw similarly cold eyes that matched mine by a cherry blossom tree that was beginning to decay at the center. Eyes that swarmed with death cascaded over my emerald hues. Eyes that haven't changed since we were twelve. His brown eyes give him away. Those eyes that once made my knees weak, even back then. They were fixated on me now and hardened. Those eyes were fierce and leeched of the light they once held. I popped my bubble gum deafeningly as the shadow that loomed over me disappeared. I felt a foreign coolness on my neck as I dropped my red rose, which lacked the fragrant scent of a traditional rose, into the ground, pricking my finger in the process. The blood seeped into the soil, preparing to bloom. I longed to tear out of my dress and put on my sweatpants and baggy T-shirt once more, but that is not how a family operates after a funeral. First, we eat and mourn as a collective, and then we are thrust into a world where our grief no longer matters as everyone moves on around us while we are stuck permanently still. My hair, which is now more black than red, fell into my face as the wind whipped around me. My exposed legs became purple from the Spring chill. Bits and pieces of blown-away cherry blossoms swirled in the air as a few of the pink flowers stuck in my hair. As I stood there, frozen in grief, the chill of reality settled in. My life was forever shattered. The fragments of my former self lay scattered, like the cherry blossoms swirling around me. The haunting memory of my mother's final words and the gruesome scene outside my window would forever stain my mind. That's why it was a closed casket. It's just a box. An empty box. We were grieving over an empty box rather than a person. I held onto the necklace that was steadily in place and fastened it around my neck rapidly. It's the last thing of hers that I have. The silver hummed around my neck and felt warm in this crisp Spring air. I never wanted to take the necklace off. It would always serve as a reminder of my mom. I would always keep a part of my mom with me. Li, my best friend, came up to me and hugged me tightly. Her dark hair was tied back into a braid, and she wore a dress similar to mine, except shorter and cuter. Li gave me some much-needed space as she went off to the side to silently pay her respects with her NaiNai (Grandmother). Sam, my other friend, gave me a light pat on the back. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and tan slacks. His sandy brown hair was blowing in the wind, and his glasses were sliding down his face in typical Sam fashion. He had a lopsided, somber smile as he expressed his condolences. We have barely spoken since middle school. We were still friendly, but not as close as we once were. "I don't know what to say." Sam started to whisper to me. "Then don't." I plugged my headphones into my phone as I tuned everyone out with the blaring noise. I wanted no part in anyone's sympathies. The music didn't matter. I set my playlist to rock and let my selection settle into my bitchy mood. There is never the right thing to say to the hurting, grieving individuals. Silence is better when the world is drowned out by music. Sulking music. Li grabbed Sam and brought him to her seat. When you start to push people away, you go pro quickly. The way I pushed should send me straight to the Olympics. Once I started pushing people away, I couldn't stop. I starved for more. It turned into a pestering hunger that settled in the pit of my stomach. I would be friendless soon. It isn't a prediction. It's a fact. Everyone is better off without me in their lives. That's what the damning note implied.Should I live?How could I? If I were meant to live, then I wouldn't have received the note. You cannot expect someone to live after the horrors they've witnessed on their street. Stop!I screamed into my mind as I held my headphones in place. I felt the thickening of my throat. Constricting thickness as my mind overwhelmed me. The tears pricked at my eyes. I wanted to mask my emotions. I wanted them to leave as they fell, staining the grass like fresh morning dew. I wiped at my eyes as more tears collected. The graveyard was too exposed. Everyone could see me crying. I closed my eyes until I forced calmness as my dad pressed a tissue into my hand. I dropped it on the ground purposefully. I refuse to cry for her. I refuse. I had nothing to say to anyone here as people came up to speak to me about stories of my mother. I wanted to flee from this crime scene waiting to happen. Even though I had known Li and Sam since grade school, I could barely look either of them in the eyes. I could barely look anyone in the eyes. I couldn't help but feel that I didn't belong here. I shouldn't have to be here for this wake already. I blared music in my ears to tone out the faint sobs as I held Les in my arms. He hated hugs, but this time he let me hold him instead of wrestling me to the ground. He grumbled a few tuned-out profanities as my music grew louder. Julian stood off to the side with Dad, but he looked nauseous. Julian's dark-rimmed glasses turned foggy as he wiped at them. I briefly saw the tears beneath his frames. I had never seen him cry before. I had never seen my father cry before. I wished that I had never had to at all. The funeral's somber haze still lingered, but I knew I had to confront the darkness descending upon us. Les's trembling body in my arms reminded me of our lost innocence. Julian's tears and my father's weary eyes echoed the same despair. Bennett's persistent presence offered a glimmer of comfort, but even his kindness couldn't shield me from the overbearing shadows of grief. My mother's death was merely the beginning—an ominous prelude to the tragedies awaiting the Lucas household. The wind carried the faint whisper: "Death is only just beginning." I shivered, knowing I'd face unimaginable horrors, forever changed by that fateful night. Forever plagued by the guilt that I did nothing. There was simply nothing I could have done to change what she did. My hands folded in on themselves as others cleared out around us. We were a strange collective trapped in our grievances. Our grief became consuming as the world moved on around us, but here all four of us are, unmoved and completely changed. A family that was once five is now four and growing thinner as the days wane on. I no longer held Les in my enveloping arms. I hugged myself as the casket was lowered a mere six feet into the ground. Six feet is what stood between us and a lifetime of perpetual grief. Six feet is too much for anyone to bear.