thexbatxbuckle;; embrace.creativity.

Teagan walked quietly through the streets of her hometown. She hadn’t been there in almost ten years, and everywhere she turned something new had replaced the old, comfortable objects she was accustomed to. It filled her with undeniably anxiety. Why had she returned? Who was she kidding? She knew exactly why she was here. To end it all, for eternity. Or so she hoped, but how was she supposed to know what death really held. Maybe death was only an illusion, you died in one reality and continued on in another without even a pause in which to utter you were deceased.

Sighing, she sat on a park bench. It was bright blue, and obnoxiously shiny. Teagan could still smell the scent of lemons about it, someone had undoubtedly cleaned it shortly before. Or maybe it had been hours before, it was almost dawn, and ordinary people didn’t usually wander the streets at  five a.m. But when had Teagan ever been “ordinary?”

Even as a child, Teagan had been fascinated with the macabre. Having tea parties in her family cemetery behind her massive home with dead animals she had acquired while exploring the woods. This was something that she had done quite often, and was obviously a cause of immense dismay for her mother.

When Teagan was twelve years old, she entered her home to find her mother unconscious on the couch. Curiously, Teagan put her hand on her mother’s chest. Feeling nothing, she simply sat on the couch next to the still figure. No tears fell. She understood completely that the vital spark of life was gone, and could never be rekindled. After sitting next to her mother for almost an hour, occasionally running her hand over her mother’s face, or gently touching one of the many dark curls that adorned her head, she retrieved the phone and called her father. She stated quite simply, and with a calmness that chilled her father to the bone, “Mommy’s dead, someone needs to take care of the body.”

Her father never got over his wife’s sudden death, and never forgave Teagan, either. The doctors told him that his wife had died from an aneurism, and there was nothing that anyone could have done, but nevertheless, he blamed his daughter. The day before her eighteenth birthday, Teagan found her father on the couch that her mother had died upon. His wrists were cut, and his blood--now darkened in its dry state--had pooled around him. Thee was no note telling anyone not to blame themselves, there was only his pallid, crumpled, blood-soaked figure and Teagen’s immense disenchantment that was almost palpable.

The dark-haired girl with the inquisitive, violet eyes sat across the room from her father, simply staring at him. His wide-eyed gaze was fixed blankly upon the sage green wall. Quietly standing, Teagan pulled on a long, black trench coat and headed out the door into the cool, October air. Reaching, the police station, she quietly awaited assistance. When the man at the counter asked, “How may I help you?” she simply responded with:

“My father killed himself, and I’ll need some help removing him from the house.”

Everyone that heard her looked at the girl with horrified expressions. A few gasps were heard, and mumbles inquiring how she could be so flippant were issued. Teagan ignored them all, her hands tucked into the pockets of her long, black coat while her violet eyes glanced about the station, waiting patiently for the people to recover from her words and lend some assistance.

Teagan gave a sigh, pulling herself from her almost catatonic state. She got like that often when she was brooding. She stood, readjusting the messenger bag she wore across her chest as she did so. Brushing her hair out of her face, she began once more to move through the pre-dawn deserted streets. It wouldn’t be long now until the city was buzzing, and she wanted that to come later. To come after.

Once more she began to examine the surroundings. Though entirely different, the general aura was the same. A town feigning Utopia.

Arriving at her destination, she sat down casually upon the river bank, watching the current swirl dangerously. Removing her nearly ancient messenger bag, she sat it next to her, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Simply watching. After about ten minutes of silent reverie, she broke out of it and pulled a notebook out of her bag.

Furiously scribbling down a stream-of-consciousness style note, she concluded her thought process and thrust the notebook back into the pin-adorned bag. Standing slowly, she removed her coat, and gave an unconscious , yet unavoidable, shudder as the October wind crept through her skin, seeming to penetrate her bones. Folding the black pea coat neatly, she sat it atop her bag, and quickly added the contents of her pockets to the ever-growing pile.

Reaching down, she pulled a Sharpie from her coat pocket and quickly scribbled five words onto her palm.

Dropping the marker carelessly on top of the rest of her belongings, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to descend the river bank. Slipping a bit with each step, she reached the end of the bank…and continued walking.

The cold water began to swirl around her ankles as she calmly descended into the depths.

The freezing liquid now reached her waist, and she was finding it harder to stand on the slippery rocks as the current almost knocked her over. Again, and again, and again the waves threatened to claim her. Nonetheless, her expression remained the same. No fear or panic showed., only a mask of hopelessness and grim determination. She gave a blood curdling chortle as she was finally swept under the waves.

* * *

Hours later, the bank of the river was swarming with people. Paramedics, police, and every other emergency worker you could think of was perusing the banks, looking for clues.

They were bagging up Teagan’s clothes now. Her marker, messenger bag, notebook, and worn, black pea coat were already bagged, while some detective was reading over some of the final words that she had ever written. The note didn’t explain much, except that she felt responsible for her family’s tragic end, and she was sorry. That little bit of information had been difficult to decipher amidst the metaphor laced ramblings.

A burst of noise was heard as the coroner finally arrived. The bank of the river became suddenly more still as he walked stoically towards the body that lay on the ground.

The girl’s body, though tinted blue, looked morbidly beautiful. Her face held an expression of serenity and her dark hair fell in damp waves about her face and shoulders. Even her eye makeup had somehow remained flawless.

The coroner shook his head, sadly. It was always more difficult when they were young, and if was almost unbearable when the cause of death was self-inflicted. He remembered Teagan’s family history, and couldn’t believe that she would have come back to her hometown, even if only to commit such a heinous act. Or more accurately, especially to perform this heinous act.

Gesturing to his assistants, they began to lift the girl into a body bag.

“Wait a moment…” The coroner frowned deeply, his British lilt breaking the silence. Reaching out, he gently folded open her hand. His features paled a bit as he read the words that were barely legible.

“Go ahead,” he choked out, as he placed her arm back into the bag and zipped it completely.

The old man felt a tear roll down his cheek, as he watched the bag being carried away. The words that marred the young girl’s blue tinged flesh reverberating through his mind….