and by a sleep to say we end

a Daria ficlet by wyvern337


"...To die; to sleep;

no more; and by a sleep to say we end

the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

that flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consumation

devoutly to be wished."

Hamlet, Act III, Scene I. She'd memorized it, awhile back. This'd been a long time coming, she reflected as she drew the bath, water just above body temperature. The bath wasn't simply bacause people who slit their wrists in fiction always seem to do so in the bathtub -- there was a purpose to it. If she bled herself dry -- no pun intended, of course -- there'd be some nastily-painful muscle spasms towards the end, and the whole idea behind what she was planning was that she'd had quite enough pain, thanks very much. The water-bath was supposed to prevent or at least mitigate that side-effect; she'd done some pretty extensive reading on the subject.

After the bath was drawn, she took her clothes off (not much point, really, but she preferred to be tidy about these things) and got in. She had a nice, fresh razor blade ready, wanting a sharp one that could do the job quickly and efficiently.

As she sat in the water, she thought about her reasons for what she was going to do. There wasn't going to be any note -- as with just about everything else these days, she didn't see any point. It should be obvious, really, to anyone who'd been paying attention, not that she thought anyone had: no one loved or wanted the real her. She'd known this most of her life, in fact it'd been one of the first things she could remember learning in childhood. The pain of this realization had been enough to cause her to build a false persona which she'd used to provide an insulating layer between the real her and the world. She'd managed to live that way quite a number of years before managing to delude herself into thinking someone might like who she really was. She'd let down her defenses... and she'd paid the price.

And after that, what was there to do? Go back to living the lie? How? She knew now that all she could ever show the world was a false front, all the time, to everyone, forever. And what did that imply about what the rest of the world showed her? No point. Futile to go on. Time to just end it.

Carefully the girl positioned the corner of the razor blade on the sensitive inside of her wrist, and drew upwards. Blood welled up, but the wound was too shallow to do any real harm. Hesitation cuts. She'd read about those too...the victim wasn't quite sure of themselves the first time, or few times, they tried to make the incision. Or maybe they were just afraid, afraid of the pain, afraid of the mess, not enough guts to do it right the first time.

Maybe no guts, thought the girl, steeling herself, positioning the blade over where her researches had taught her the ulnal (or was it radial? whatever.) artery was. Maybe no guts, but here comes some blood....

Just then the door to the bathroom opened. Stupid. Stupid! She'd chosen a time when she'd been as close to sure as she could manage that no one would come home finished, but dammit she should've remembered to lock the door just in case. She looked up, made eye contact with the interloper...

O God not her. Either of my parents my stupid classmates some stranger off the street anyone but my damn sister!

While she sat there frozen, her sister took in the situation and suddenly lunged across the room and had ahold of the wrist whose hand held the razor, pulling it inexorably away from her other wrist (who would've expected that kind of strength from her?) despite her resistance, forcing the blade from her hand, and it was over.

The girl looked down into the water at first, then raised her eyes to again meet her sister's gaze. Why did you do it? she thought. You've always hated me, I disgust you. You want me dead! But when she saw her sister's face, she saw genuine concern -- no, fear, her sister was actually afraid...for her? There was even an audible tone of worry in Helen's voice as she said "Rita, what the hell do you think you're doing?"