A Dusky Rose (Collection of Short Stories)
written by Winter Lily
Short stories that I've written over time. In chronological order. Trigger warnings are: Suicide, depression, anxiety, murder. I will write individual warnings for each story. Feedback is welcome
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
12
Reads
501
Nope - Amira
Chapter 3
Dedicated to Amira Diable (Teevan) - For the prompt of course, but also for being just a generally wonderful person. We've had some strange conversations, but they've always been good. So thank you.
(27 July, 2017)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Depression, death, self harm
It was strange, she felt nothing. Nothing, nothing at all. She had never not felt before, usually she felt too much, but never nothing. She knew that it was wrong. You were meant to feel something, it was what made you human. You were meant to feel something, but she didn’t. Although, there were plenty of things considered “wrong” that made no sense, but this one did. Everyone should feel something, it was part of what made us, us. It was strange, and she didn’t quite know what to do. She stood at her window, gazing into the distance, letting the cold, crisp wind blow against her face. It had been a long day with unpleasant news and unpleasant people. So she was here, standing at her window at one o’clock in the moring. She was meant to be sleeping. Sleeping deeply. She should have fallen asleep, she should have completed her homework, she should have had dinner with her family, she should have stayed in class when she heard the news, she shouldn’t have broken down, she should have kept the fake smile on her face. There were so many things that she should have done, so many things that people demanded of her, so many things that she just couldn’t do. Today she had let it all go, her expression wasn’t joyful anymore, and the sparkle in her eyes that had occasionally been real had disappeared. Today she had let her guard down. Today she had done some things that she never thought she would have done. Today she had let people see a glimpse, a glimpse of what she really felt.
She immediately regretted it.
A stronger gust of wind blew through the window, through her hair, and around the room. It was a nice relief, cooling her face down. Rain pired down from the black clouds that hung in the air, lighting flashed and thunder rolled across the sky. She had always loved thunderstorms, and she couldn’t be more grateful there was one tonight. She hung her arm out the window with a deep sigh, letting the raindrops settle on her hand before sliding off onto the ground below. Her thoughts wandered back to the events of the day, and she did her best to not collaspse right there and then. Suddenly, she pulled her hand away from the window and tucked a strand of thick blonde hair behind her ear, so it wasn’t brushing up against her face. She walked over to her desk — she was quick, she always was — and she opened her drawer. Her movements were slowing down now, as she gently takes out a note, a note she had kept in that very drawer for three years. She had read it over and over, too many times to count, but now it felt as if she hadn’t read it nearly enough.
“Dear Ash, my beautiful friend (just kidding, maybe…),
How are you? I wish I could say that I was good, but I’m just not and I’m too much of a coward to even tell you this face to face. I’m breaking, I can feel myself breaking. I feel broken. Maybe I am broken. It’s all becoming too much, my emotions either overwhelm me, or fade away entirely. I’m so confused. Ash, I’m so sorry. But I just want to die. I have so many scars covering my arms and I don’t even know what to do. Help.
I’m so sorry.
Your best friend,
Alistair
Time had slipped away from her, she was barely aware of anything, and soon she had read it nine times. It was her fault, wasn’t it? It was her fault that he had died today. She had tried and tried, but she just wasn’t good enough. She had never been good enough. Maybe she never would be good enough. These were the thoughts running through her head, she still couldn’t feel anything, but her own sense of logic was storming through her head. Her logic had always been less logical, but she held onto it now. It was the only thing she had left. No one, no emotions, no friends, only her thoughts. She wanted to feel again. She had had enough taunting throughout her life, but still, her emotions continued to play with her. “Nope. No feelings for you, none. Zero, nul, nothing,” they teased her. So she took another object out of her drawer, something that glinted in the moonlight.
Looking over her shoulder at her window, she could see the storm getting more and more vicious. The wind blew harder and raindrops fell faster. It sounded as if the sky was going to be split into pieces by the thunder and set on fire by the lightning. She looked out onto the street and saw that everyone had closed their windows and curtains, no one except her was watching the storm. Silently, she walked back over to the window, note in one hand, blade in the other.
(27 July, 2017)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Depression, death, self harm
It was strange, she felt nothing. Nothing, nothing at all. She had never not felt before, usually she felt too much, but never nothing. She knew that it was wrong. You were meant to feel something, it was what made you human. You were meant to feel something, but she didn’t. Although, there were plenty of things considered “wrong” that made no sense, but this one did. Everyone should feel something, it was part of what made us, us. It was strange, and she didn’t quite know what to do. She stood at her window, gazing into the distance, letting the cold, crisp wind blow against her face. It had been a long day with unpleasant news and unpleasant people. So she was here, standing at her window at one o’clock in the moring. She was meant to be sleeping. Sleeping deeply. She should have fallen asleep, she should have completed her homework, she should have had dinner with her family, she should have stayed in class when she heard the news, she shouldn’t have broken down, she should have kept the fake smile on her face. There were so many things that she should have done, so many things that people demanded of her, so many things that she just couldn’t do. Today she had let it all go, her expression wasn’t joyful anymore, and the sparkle in her eyes that had occasionally been real had disappeared. Today she had let her guard down. Today she had done some things that she never thought she would have done. Today she had let people see a glimpse, a glimpse of what she really felt.
She immediately regretted it.
A stronger gust of wind blew through the window, through her hair, and around the room. It was a nice relief, cooling her face down. Rain pired down from the black clouds that hung in the air, lighting flashed and thunder rolled across the sky. She had always loved thunderstorms, and she couldn’t be more grateful there was one tonight. She hung her arm out the window with a deep sigh, letting the raindrops settle on her hand before sliding off onto the ground below. Her thoughts wandered back to the events of the day, and she did her best to not collaspse right there and then. Suddenly, she pulled her hand away from the window and tucked a strand of thick blonde hair behind her ear, so it wasn’t brushing up against her face. She walked over to her desk — she was quick, she always was — and she opened her drawer. Her movements were slowing down now, as she gently takes out a note, a note she had kept in that very drawer for three years. She had read it over and over, too many times to count, but now it felt as if she hadn’t read it nearly enough.
“Dear Ash, my beautiful friend (just kidding, maybe…),
How are you? I wish I could say that I was good, but I’m just not and I’m too much of a coward to even tell you this face to face. I’m breaking, I can feel myself breaking. I feel broken. Maybe I am broken. It’s all becoming too much, my emotions either overwhelm me, or fade away entirely. I’m so confused. Ash, I’m so sorry. But I just want to die. I have so many scars covering my arms and I don’t even know what to do. Help.
I’m so sorry.
Your best friend,
Alistair
Time had slipped away from her, she was barely aware of anything, and soon she had read it nine times. It was her fault, wasn’t it? It was her fault that he had died today. She had tried and tried, but she just wasn’t good enough. She had never been good enough. Maybe she never would be good enough. These were the thoughts running through her head, she still couldn’t feel anything, but her own sense of logic was storming through her head. Her logic had always been less logical, but she held onto it now. It was the only thing she had left. No one, no emotions, no friends, only her thoughts. She wanted to feel again. She had had enough taunting throughout her life, but still, her emotions continued to play with her. “Nope. No feelings for you, none. Zero, nul, nothing,” they teased her. So she took another object out of her drawer, something that glinted in the moonlight.
Looking over her shoulder at her window, she could see the storm getting more and more vicious. The wind blew harder and raindrops fell faster. It sounded as if the sky was going to be split into pieces by the thunder and set on fire by the lightning. She looked out onto the street and saw that everyone had closed their windows and curtains, no one except her was watching the storm. Silently, she walked back over to the window, note in one hand, blade in the other.
