That Night.
She didn't mean for everything to go this far, not really; not in the beginning. There was nothing that she regretted more than that night. Nothing dreadful had ever happened to her, there was no traumatic life story: merely a normal teenager having a rough time. There wasn't some sort of magical epiphany, when she realised that she wasn't like everyone else: things only happened like that in the movies. Actually, that was a lie; there had been an epiphany. It had just happened too late to be of any use.
No matter how much she had tried to block that night from her memory, her mind defied her. It was like a song stuck on replay; the lyrics and the melody telling the story of the mistakes and wrong turns that had had taken over her life. She had never meant to cause so much damage, but it was done. All the pain, suffering and guilt that had been felt had happened, it wasn't a dream, she wasn't going to wake up and go sobbing to her mum like a scared little girl: even though that was exactly what she was. She was a scared, lonely little girl who wanted a hug from her mum and to hear the words "It's going to be okay", but it just wasn't going to happen, not anymore.
It would never have occurred to her, the consequences of that night; never in a million years. It just wasn't something that you would think about, normally. It was something people would avoid as much as they could: no-one wanted to have to think about that.
Still the memories were playing in her head, and she had given up caring enough to just let them flow, the mental blocks she may have possessed melting as the seconds ticked by: her willpower and resolve had deserted her, just when she needed them most.
It wasn't that cold, she thought to herself as she hurried along the abandoned street; the sinister feel to the dark night making her imagination go wild. It was ludicrous though; there were no monsters in the dark; no bogey-men lurking in the shadows, waiting on their chance to pounce and drag her; kicking and screaming, back to their treacherous lair. No, don't be silly; there was nothing out here to harm her, except maybe herself.
There was no need for the panic that was flooding her chest, but she had decided to take a shortcut: the less time she had to spend in places that terrified her, the better: She always had hated the dark. A tune began to play in her head, a soft buzzing in her ear, a welcomed distraction from the horrific images her brain was producing.
There had been no signs as to what would happen next, no glowing neon arrows, nothing, nada. It was almost as spontaneous as she had been earlier on that night; although that was one part she was struggling to remember. It's funny, how some things can be so clear and detailed; yet others as blurry and foggy as the moors on a winters evening.
She wasn't even far from home, maybe a few minutes' walk, but she was increasingly regretting leaving the party. A stupid fight with her best friend and she had stormed out: acting like a petulant child. The feeling of eyes on the back of her head caused her to whip round, scanning quickly only to find she was alone. "Stop letting your imagination run away with you!" She scolded herself, quickening her pace nonetheless. There it was again, that feeling; almost a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. It caused shivers to run down her spine, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest. "There's nothing there, there's nothing there, there's nothing there..." She was chanting to herself like a mantra, attempting to control herself, there was no need to be frightened, just another minute or so and she would be home; safe in her mother's arms.
It had been silly; she realises now, to let her guard down. Even if she was sure that she would be safe in a matter of moments, it was a rough area; so many people would get mugged or stabbed. She wouldn't even have come this way, if not for the fact she wanted to get home as soon as possible. Now an extra fifteen minutes would be all that she would need, just to change things a little bit, to sort everything out. Alas, there was no way that she could ever go, she would never be able to snap her fingers and make everything better. What was done was done. It was something that would never be accepted in her mind, she would never be able to come to terms with what had been done; it just wasn't possible. Pretend as she did, in the deepest corners of her mind there was a voice, tiny at first but steadily growing louder and louder, that was crying out about the injustice that happened that night. That night. She had never referred to it as anything else, it had no name, no title, no explanation, just, that night. Maybe if she did confront what had happened then all of this would be easier for her, but she couldn't do it all. Not now, not yet. Her story was merely starting, and she had to see it to the finish. Skipping the middle, glossing over the bad parts, embellishing things with sunshine and rainbows and fluffy bunnies, it wouldn't work. The story had to be told. No emotion, nothing missed out, just the straight truth.
It couldn't have happened at a worse moment. She had entered her street, seen the flickering light of her fireplace from the living room window, curtains drawn yet the light still filtered through, casting a homey shadow over her front garden. It happened then, when she thought she was safe. There was no one following her, no evil wizards, no goblins, or ghouls, or ghosts. The walk home in the dark had just scared her a little, her mind playing tricks on her, like a magician would a small child. It was like pulling the rabbit from the hat; her mind had pulled evil from the darkness that had surrounded her, but there was nothing there, not really. Yet something made her turn around, away from the warmth and security of home, and into the woods; a place people of all ages had been warned against for as long as anyone could remember. The further into the trees she walked, the further away from civilization, the darker it became; until she could not even see her hands in front of her. She wouldn't have known that she was nearing the river if it wasn't for the sounds of rushing water that had entered her ears and the ground beneath her feet growing slightly damper. When she finally felt rotting wood underneath her hands, she hauled herself onto the railing and sat perched on the edge of the bridge.
She still didn't know what had happened, all she knew was that she was falling, falling, falling... She had never felt the impact of the water. It had all been too quick.
Sometimes she thinks that maybe she felt a hand on her back before she fell, or maybe it had been a noise that startled her or even just a slip of the hand as she shuffled to remain comfortable. She didn't and doesn't know.
All she knows is this:
Her name was Jessica O'Rourke.
She was 15 years old.
She died that night.
General fiction.