Kill Yourself

My sister took the bread-knife and held it to her throat in the kitchen.  She said she was going to kill herself but any fool could see that it was the bread-knife and it had a serrated edge so you would have to saw your way through your neck if you wanted to die.  And since I hated her, I hoped she would do it.  But Mum wrestled her to the floor and pinned her down.

As they fought, I looked at the rotting pile of garbage that was lying on the floor beside my sister’s head.  I watched the flies making their hungry circles around the potato peelings and teabags and the dark brown puddle from something that was once alive and now was wriggling back to life again in a larvae feeding frenzy.

Mum gripped my sister’s wrist and the knife just lay there in the filth. Soon it would be slicing bread again and my sister would have to find a more effective way to kill herself. The voices in her head were telling her to do it. So she had no choice. But this time there was no sign of blood.

If you were a child growing up with insanity you will know, as I do, that awful sense of numbing anxiety as you wait for the next petrifying episode. The hideous nightly hauntings.  All the time, trying to be a normal kid. Helpless in the face of problems that even the grown-ups could not solve.

Comments

  1. This is a very strange tale…
    It makes me feel sad in a way. I don’t often think about what it’s like for my family to live with me, and perhaps… perhaps they also feel a bit like that. I don’t know.
    Anyway, it’s thought-provoking to me.

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