Love. Intrigue. Drama. Passion. Tragedy. Loss. Depraved notions of glory and a fascinating bit with a dog. This story has it all.
Let us start at the beginning....
Ryann stared at blood stained hands, refusing to believe that they were hers. Her legs were weak; she collapsed on the ground as suddenly as she had recieved the notion to run the razor down her wrist.
Suicide was a topic of taboo at her high school. More legend than reality, but everytime a bandage was seen upon a forearm, the gossips spoke of trouble at home, spoke of that which they had no knowledge of. But such are gossips in all high schools and all other walks of life. Ryann's mind was post-apocalyptic wreckage, and she was the sole survivor reassembling the world.
"If I were to die tonight," she thought, "would the gossips write the eulogy? Would they indulge the student body of my parent's fault and their carelessness? But of course they would. A gossip must be unaware of it's inhuman sin, for it would cease to be a gossip. My 17-year legacy would be on their nameless tongues, and I would be but a garbled message, legendary only for a few months, before the wind would carry my story and my ashes to absence."
Ryann's vision began to fail the moment she knew she wanted to live. She sloshed herself around upon her bed, attempting to slide out her hooded sweatshirt. "Please," she begged to the darkness, "I need to get this shirt off to stop the bleeding. Sight for a moment. Then rest." She slid one arm down a sleeve, but couldn't manage to contort her wrist out of the arm completely. Her vision failed now and drowsiness took over. Her thoughts turned to anger at her own sence of self-preservation. She remembered from biology that she was supposed to recieve a boost of adrenaline at life-threatening times. But Ryann fell asleep, without further thoughts that evening.
