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**This is the completed version. I shall keep the other one up if you want to see the before, and after. I told this version to my class as an assignment. Forget my mark, though. I think it was in the 80's.
So enjoy ^.^)
I have edited, and edited, and hopefully, i've gotten all the mistakes fixed!
!!!ATTENTION!!!
Please note that this story has to do with suicide, and crude language, so if you'd rather not read something with that included, read no further.
Do you know what a bathroom legend is? It’s a story told in a public bathroom, or written like useless graffiti on the walls and stalls. Girls talk more in the bathroom; so more legends and rumours start in there. But some rumours get out of hand and soon the whole school knows instead of the little group who made them up. One of my sixth grade teachers taught me “What goes around comes around.” Meaning, that if you start a rumour, or anything, that it will eventually come back to you. This is what happened to the girl in my story.
The girl’s name is Amber. Her little gossipy group starts many rumours, but everyone is so scared of them, that no one has ever taken a stand against them.
One Monday afternoon, Amber and her group were in the bathroom, sitting on the counters talking about the newest rumour: Felicia Andrew’s has implants, plus they were looking through the new pictures they secretly took of couples making out behind the school. They made nasty comments like “How could that slut make out with him, and still maintain a regular boyfriend.” First words that come to mind are probably “Air heads”, right? Well, Amber’s friend just got up in order to get the lighter in her back pocket to burn the pictures, when suddenly; a boy stuck his head in the door. “Amber! There’s the craziest picture going around about you guys! In the other bathrooms!” He promptly left. All of Amber’s friends looked at Amber, shocked. Amber got off from the counter first, walked over to the writing covered door with it’s chipping and flaking paint, and opened it.
In the hallways, there were the kids pointing at pictures; which plastered the walls. She didn’t even need to walk down the hall to the opposing bathroom to see what was up; it was all around her. The pictures showed Amber along with her friends, but Amber didn’t understand the setting. She never remembered being there before. The setting was in a cave, all in blood red. Little volcanoes came out of the ground, shooting ash, fire and rock out of their great mouths. Rocks with jagged edges hung from the ceiling. She could tell, after a few minutes of imagining, this was hell. Under it, it read “Amber, Chelsea, Michelle, Stephanie, Erin, Amanda, and Sarah, gossiping and burning in HELL where they belong!”
Amber stared at the writing with her mouth hanging open. She pulled down the poster and pushed past the crowded hallway and disappeared into the safety of her bathroom. She knew this was kids stuff, but why was it so funny to them? She never did anything wrong. She was a good girl. She didn’t dye her hair, or pierce any part of her body, or drink, or even smoke. To her, she was perfect and couldn’t explain this terrible picture that was now circulating the school.
Days passed, but Amber kept her head up high, and ignored the talk, looks, and the new graffiti in the stalls plus the new one on the mirrors: a blown up picture of the one everyone now owned. Day after day, her friends noticed the effect it was beginning to take on her: wrinkles under her eyes, being so crabby she was almost to tears, a slump in posture, they could only do one thing: abandon the bathroom and Amber all together. They still hang out in a bathroom, but all the way on the top floor, but no more crazy gossip or rumours: now it’s all hot guys and silly anorexic questions.
After many months, it was still all the school could talk about. Amber refused to get out of bed or even go to school. She got tons of phone calls; her answering machine was full of un-heard messages; she refused to answer the phone, or even hear the foreign voices of her so called friends. One morning, she decided to hear the messages out of complete insanity for hearing another human voice other then her own, or parents’. She played the first one and it was from Michelle. She immediately screamed “BITCH!” and erased it. The next one started with a delay, and was from someone disguising his or her voice. The person said some really bad things, concerning the picture and how Amber deserved it.
Amber quickly erased it after resisting the urge to knocking it off the table. But she had a better idea as she eyed the open window. Amber picked up the answering machine and threw it out her window. After a few seconds, she could barely hear the plastic smash against the concrete because her hands were covering her face and she was crying.
So this is what her victims felt like after a rumour, or a picture about them got out of hand? She straightened up and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked at the posters in her room and made the conclusion that she hated them, so tore them off the walls, and balled them up so she wouldn’t have to see images of her past life. Her happy life, Her problem free life, Her friend-filled life. She looked back into the mirror. She hated the Damn hell picture, she hated her mind and most of all, she hated herself. She hated with all her heart the person starring back at her with a wet face and dirty hair and the state of the clothes: she hadn’t taken them off for weeks, nor has she showered for days. She just didn’t bother. She wasn’t going anywhere special, nor did she have anyone to show them to.
Amber got fed up of looking at herself, the murderer of spirits and self-esteem. She picked up a bottle of perfume and threw it as hard as she can against the mirror. Amber was showered in a storm of glass, perfume and guilt. No matter how much apologizing she did, it wouldn’t make any difference. She was still a monster. The people would be tortured by the past comments. It would still be fresh and alive with them as they graduated, and tried to live a normal life. She lay back on her bed and covered her eyes with her arm. And tried to think of a way to fix it all. She had read many diaries and stories of teens that resolved problems with suicide. She promised herself she wouldn’t do it. She was all her parents had. But she hadn’t been much of a daughter since this whole thing happened.
Her parents were currently out visiting relatives a few hours away, she could use the bathroom without being seen. She got up, and slowly opened the door, peering out as soon as it was wide enough. She opened it all the way and walked down the small hall to the bathroom. She ran the warm water in the bathtub, and went straight in without taking her clothes off. She turned off the water, and leaned back, just enjoying the soothing feeling.
After 20 minutes of brainstorming, the one thing she promised she wouldn’t do seemed like the perfect solution. She argued with herself for minutes on end, and automatically got up and out of the tub, and left the room. Dripping water as she went, she got into the kitchen just as a chill ran down her spine. She reached for the cutlery drawer, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt the cool handle under her warm hand. She opened the drawer fast and looked for a knife. She found it with incredible ease since she hasn’t been in the kitchen for months: All her food was brought up to her, which was a bribe all together to get her shrink in there. She observed it for several seconds and put it to one of her wrists. She hesitated and put it back in the drawer quickly. No, she couldn’t… Then she spotted the cupboard with the medications her dad took for his thinning blood. She decided to overdose other then to cut her wrists.
She took the bottle down along with painkillers and a cup. She opened the bottles and emptied the contents onto the counter. There must have been thirty-five pills. She filled the cup with water, and began to take the pills one by one. After an hour or two of looking outside, she began to feel sick, and blacked out. She knew this was it so she only thought happy thoughts and thought about those poems people wrote about people dying from drunk drivers.
“Good bye, cruel world,” she thought. “We may never meet again, and I must say I am glad. You’re harshness was great, so I only wish to observe it from afar. I wish to show an example to people that rumours hurt, and they can crush even someone who has spread them her whole life, fake or not. Goodbye Momma, Goodbye daddy, goodbye aunt Aandy and Goodbye grandma Ruth. I will continue to love you and I promise to watch over you and protect you.”
When Amber’s parents came home, they found her dead.
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