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| Valentine's Day | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 28 2009, 07:30 AM (104 Views) | |
| Project Neverland | Nov 28 2009, 07:30 AM Post #1 |
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14th February, 1999 Disaster has struck. I received a telephone call at approximately four o'clock this morning. Wendy had been admitted to a local hospital with heavy blood loss. Reports are still hazy, but it appears she was found wandering the streets late at night partially clothed and highly disoriented, screaming to herself and showing clear signs of distress. A member of the public found her and attempted to calm her down but Wendy simply became more agitated, and stormed into a nearby supermarket. She then marched through the supermarket before coming across a display of mirrors. She smashed her fists through one of them and took up a piece of glass, slashing deeply into her wrists. Thankfully bystanders were able to subdue her before she could continue the attack, but in spite of their swift action, she lost a great deal of blood and was transferred to a local hospital for treatment. The hospital contacted the psychiatric clinic to ask for their advice on dealing with her; the clinic recognised her description and, in turn, contacted me. As I drove to the hospital I told myself that this was to be expected, that a girl with clear emotional difficulties could find those difficulties manifesting in suicidal tendencies. That such a result was inevitable at some point and that my presence had, if anything, ensured that she would get the help she needed when she needed it. Yet even as I said those things I knew they were untrue, a desparate attempt to escape and deny my own culpability. It was only on seeing her that I recognised the enormity of what I had done. It was not the bloodstained clothing which did it, nor even the bandages around her wrists, the orderlies waiting to intervene at any sign of trouble. Rather it was her eyes, those beautiful, deep red eyes, so playful and full of life. There was a dullness to them, a sense of defeat, of withdrawal. A sense of lifelessness, life that I had taken from her, stolen from her in my eagerness to be the saviour, to be the healer. Innocence is dead, and beauty with it; in my arrogance I have killed them both. The boyfriend was there. He is now in police custody; on seeing me he knocked me to the ground and wrapped his hands around my throat, knowing who was to blame for the fall of his angel and seeking vengeance upon me. He was right to do so; in a way I regret that he failed. I regret so much. The local press will no doubt be alerted, and amid the attention, there will be the inevitable investigation. Records will come to light, evidence will be disclosed, and the enormity of what I have done will be exposed to the world. My only hope now is to return to the United States, to flee before I am discovered. To save my own life, miserable as it is. To pray for forgiveness, undeserving of it though I am. |
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