Suicidal Ideation Tw - Blog Posts
Ever the optimist, Didyme's innate positivity had fought back against the call for darkness. Perhaps just as sorrow was a condition of humanity, self-preservation was a condition of the eternity her brother had gifted her with. Trying to burn herself in the sun and join her siblings had resulted in only a temporarily charred wrist. Though on the other side of her temptation she saw a clearer truth; she had lost herself. She remembered how precious life had been in humanity. How one more hug, one more meal, one more sunrise was a blessing and none of them were promised. And there she was with an endless abundance. Who was she to shun such things?
Still, when death seemed as much a promise as the joys of life she knows it harder to resist the temptation to meet it earlier. A small, thoughtful smile crosses the vampires delicate features. "You're right, I do not know you." But she knew humans. She had seen a plethora of them, countless lifetimes, of the way they could be. Some prettier than others. The yellow jewel of her necklace catches the light of the moon, illuminating her face as she moves closer. "But I am willing to bet you did not start this way. No one does." Not even her cold and controlling brother, even he had once been a child full of light and hope. As she moves, so does her power, invisible tendrils attempting to take hold of the woman's heart and fill it with a warmth she surely had not felt in some time. Reaching for the human's arm, Didyme's own heart aches as the others pain hits her even harder. In her tear stained gaze she sees but a broken child. When was the last time someone held her?
Overwhelmed, the ancient pulls the woman into her embrace, trying to envelop her with a certain protection from the harsh fate that awaited on the other side of the cliff. "It's going to be okay. Not every day will feel like this." It was only the two of them under the evening sky, but her words are still whispered. A gentle offering of comfort from whoever she needed it to be from. From wherever she had never felt it.
Sorrow wasn't apt enough a word for the depth of Esme's grief— her pain. Every breath felt like needles in her lungs, pricking tears from eyes just for her to then choke on them. They had to pull her fingers from around her son's body, pry her arms from around him so they could take him to the morgue. All while she screamed and begged for another hour.
The silence afterwards was incomparable to anything she'd experienced before. They had threatened restraints on her, but one of the nurses managed to convince the doctor otherwise; she was just a grieving mother, not a danger to anyone's safety—
Well, perhaps her own.
Her lungs burned as they did bringing her boy into this world. Over the past few days she had become accustomed to heaving lungs; labour of different kinds, one now to reward her the end of this tortuous existence.
Through her tears, Esme thinks that perhaps the figure and the words to be her mother. The innate kindness of them make her yearn for the familiarity of a mother's embrace, but as she blinks the tears away, Esme focuses instead on a stranger.
The breeze is non-existent on this humid, August night. The stars glisten like silver above and Esme can't help the way she finds peace in this landscape being her end.
"How could a stranger know if I'm myself or not?" Her words are spat. She is so close now. If her son can't be with her, she'll be with him. "They couldn't, so don't pretend you're any different."