Rotten.
A Short Story written by:
Jeremiah Wilkins
Inspired by the songs “First Day of The End of My Life” by Amigo the Devil and “I hope You Rot” by Parkway Drive.
I’m jumping off 19th avenue tonight. Time to spill all my regrets and guts on the frozen river below me. They most likely will call me a coward, and they will definitely call it a sin. But I will never, ever have to hear those words again. Ruined. Used. Rotten.
I’m sitting on the edge, eighty feet from the bottom where there is nothing but ice. The snow falls all around me, slowly. Much slower than how fast I will fall soon. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, it’s probably only been ten minutes. It probably took another ten to get to the highest point on the bridge. Five or six cars must have passed me as I walked and just as I suspected, no car stopped. I can see my cold breath as I breathe my last breaths. Every few seconds another car speeds by. How many have passed? Five? Fifteen? One even honked their horn. I look up to the street lamp right above me. One last prayer in the streetlight? No, I don’t think so. I honestly don’t see the purpose in it anymore. I find no more comfort. But…Maybe Satan feels bad for girls like me. Those who are…Ruined. Used. Rotten.
A 15 year old girl who’s driven to jump off a bridge. I wish I could pinpoint a happier time in my life to focus on, but honestly I don’t remember a happy time in my life at all. Raised in a strict catholic household in the bible belt, all I can remember from my childhood is sitting on t my Pa’s lap and the smell of whiskey on my breath. My home was always ruined, riddled with crosses and the yellowing of the walls from my Ma’s cigarettes'. They always despised me, why? Because I ruined their precious young lives. As if it was my fault they had pre-marital sex at twenty-three and had me. No siblings, I’m all alone with them, and all the neighbors and “friends’ ′ at church, where we all go to sermon four times a week. They like to think no matter what they did or said to me or how they lived their boring mundane lives that if they asked forgiveness, they can always do it again. I thought about calling one of them right now, I stormed out hours ago, but I don’t think either of them would answer. Pa liked to hit me a lot, whenever he got angry. Angry at Ma, angry at work, angry that I spilled sugar on the counter. Ma never cared, hell, a part of me believes she cheered it on. Ma got worse when I got older. I feel like she was intimidated because I was younger and pretty, much like she used to be. She used to call me a whore just for walking with my head up. She rarely touched me in any way, harmful or affectionate. The only time would be to put her stinging cigarette out in my arm. They never apologized to me for it, but I know he asked God for forgiveness. And guess what? God will forgive them each and every time. That’s how it works right? Sins can be washed away in the gentle arms of God. That’s what pastor always said.
School was never the escape I wished it to be. No public schools, too much sin in them. My mother always said that ‘Public schools are filled with the devil’s children, the catholic private school. Now there. There you will meet God’s chosen, just like you’ They weren’t like me. All the girls, all of them yelled and belittled me. They all knew I was ‘born from sin’, born before my parents could wed. The names they would all call me..and all I honestly wished for was a prince in it all. A boy to see me and save me from this place, but just like all the girls. They just called me names and whispered about me. And the teachers all knew. They knew and did nothing because they were just as disgusted to see me. I know I heard them whispering about me, saying I was born against God. As if i choose it. It will get better, at least, that's what pastor said.
.
The Church used to be a home away from home? I feel like maybe God was really looking out for me. Sometimes when I prayed with my family, we actually felt like a family. But that’s the only time. We always sat in the back, I assumed it was because my Ma and Pa were ashamed of me. The stained glass windows were so pretty, Jesus in the window actively looking down at us. I could never tell if he looked down on us in pity. I used to ask myself, how different am I from Jesus? I mean….he was born from unwed parents, right? That used to comfort me. Ma and Pa were always a lot better in church, they acted like they were everyone else, and painted a picture of us being a perfect family. Ma used to donate every chance she got, while at home I was having buttered rice for the fourth time that week and that’s all.
Tonight is the end. It’s Mid-December. It got really bad. Pa was super drunk, off of eggnog and whiskey. Ma was ignoring it all while watching a Christmas movie. Pa was screaming how I ruined their lives, how Ma wanted to be a movie star and how he didn't want to end up working the same job as Grandpa. I apologized and apologized so much like I always do, but then I just snapped. I screamed how it wasn’t my fault, and he struck me in the face, slamming me to the kitchen ground. I got up and ran out the backdoor. I ran and ran and didn’t know where to go. The only place I knew was the church, I thought maybe I could pray and then sleep in the pew. I got there and pastor was there. He was always a nice, much older man. Gray hair around his head and bald top. During the sermon, he was so passionate, reciting verses and telling the stories. When I got there, I was crying profusely and he talked to me. He told me he can help me. He was…comforting. Too comforting. He wiped the tears from my cheek and pushed my hair behind my ear. He said how beautiful I had grown. No one ever said anything close to that before. I had known the pastor all my life. I never thought that…Something in me told me something wasn’t right. I should have ran but…it was too late.. I remember as I laid in the pew, I was looking up, upside down, at the stained glass window, and I knew He wasn’t looking down at me. He never did. I prayed right then and there. Asking for His help as he looked down at me. He didn’t come and help me. He never did.
After…I just… I just ran. I ran back home. I came barging into the kitchen from the back screen door, I was cold and damp from the snow that just started to fall. Pa was there, pouring another drink. I cried to Pa and Ma about what had happened. I never had seen Pa so angry. I thought for a second, my father would actually help me. But he was angry with me? He screamed how I deduced the pastor. He said it was all my fault as he hit me to the ground. He told Me to call the pastor to apologize, and that I’ll have to apologize for making the pastor “give in to temptation.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t even see through my tears. He called me ruined. Used. Rotten. I backed away slowly, and walked out the door. I never wanted to see them again. Any of them. I find no comfort, in hallowed halls nor broken homes.
Now here I am. On the edge of a shallow fall straight down. I wonder if I’ll break through the ice and go straight to hell. From all the stories of hell, it couldn’t honestly be worse than this life I live. I looked up to the sky. I see Christmas lights flashing from the edge of my sight coming from the road. I can hear a car screeching to a stop. I hear someone shouting, telling me to step off the edge. I can barely hear him with my frostbitten ears. I think he says that he will help me. Help me? Like the pastor did? I slowly look to see a police officer. Someone actually called the police. I wonder if they knew it was me on this edge that they would have. He’s young, I’ve seen him at church a few times in his handsome uniform. Maybe he’s the prince I was looking for? But then those words Pa said flooded my brain. Ruined. Used. Rotten. I feel a rage boil in me. Ma, Pa, The pastor. There are no halos to be found here. The officer approaches me slowly, his hands raised… I turn slowly to him. He has an honest face, he actually looks concerned. So I told him everything. I tell him what monsters raised me. I told him what the pastor did to me. He was shocked, but I could tell he actually believed me. He told me to come with him and that I can make an official report, that he can make sure I can get justice. He can get me away from this place. My prince actually did come to save me. But it was too late. Ruined. Used. Rotten.
“Thank you for your kindness.”
Then I jumped.
