Last report

LAST REPORT

No. It wasn't pain that this girl was feeling. It was loneliness. Even
though the thought of a knife digging into your skin and slitting your
arteries is enough to make anyone shiver, it wasn't hurting for
her.
The fact of sadness and loneliness had taken over her whole life so
much that she didn't feel pain anymore. She didn't yelp suddenly when
she stubbed her toe on the counter, nor did she shriek in agony when
she scolded herself with the kettle, she didn't cry when she slammed
the car door on her arm and she didn't feel the pain in her one last,
final sacrifice.
She could only feel pain in her heart when she lifted the knife and
slowly dragged it across her wrists. It wasn't a dramatic ending for
her, she had tried it many times before, not always fully intending to
kill herself but this time she was more than sure.
After returning home from a job where nobody found her helpful and
receiving the monthly answer phone message from her parents, just to
"re-assure" themselves that they cared about their daughter and were
slightly interested to see if she was still alive, she fed Pacey and
went to her diary to write in her last thoughts. She wrote;

Nothing has changed. nobody cares about me. They don't care if I cry,
they don't care if I slit my wrists, they don't care if I try and kill
myself, they don't give a damn if I die. Even my own parents have
disowned me. I'm so lonley I don't even want to be with myself, so I
have a solution. Nobody even knows my name any more, nobody can
remember it. I'm just the girl they see at the post office from time to
time. The girl, who doesn't have friends, the girl who is never asked
out, the girl who doesn't talk. That girl who killed herself last week
they'll say.
I'll finaly get some attention. It's only a pity that I won't be here
to apreciate it. I'll be front headline news for this stupid town where
nothing happens. I'll be talked about at work places, the shops, on
phones, school kids will exaggerate my death and all swear that they
saw me trying to throw myself from the top of a building and failing
that, I went in and slit my wrists instead. Everybody will be claiming
that they knew me, that I always said "Hi" to them in the street or
that I babysat for their kids once and so on, so on. I will be that
person that everybody will remember because I gave Houlston town
newspaper the most interesting headlines in history. A small town
legend, I'll be. Everybody in the village will come to my funeral and
people who don't even know me will say speeches about my life and how I
was so "bright" and "popular".
Well I hate them. I want everybody to know that I hate you all. You
people ruined me. Just a "hi, how'ya doning" every so often would have
made a difference but no, that's too much to ask. Instead it's just "
yes, two first class stamps for Glasgow please" I shouldn't have to
kill myself, I certainly don't want to, but I have to. Whats the point
in going on in a life where the only thing that cares for me is my cat?
I mean for gods sake- I'm 28 years old- why should I have such a crap
life.
Well, they can all rot. They might pretend to have known me or
whatever, but they'll all be guilty, deep down they'll all feel
terrible. They'll feel so bad that they didn't ever talk to me or make
an effort to smile at me when I walk past them in the street. I'm the
only bluming person in Houlston who nobody knows. Nobody knows my name
but soon, everybody will.

She then, proceeded to the kitchen, took out a 9 inch razor sharp knife
from her cupboard and did the deed. After only one hour, her neighbour
came round to give back her cat who had been scratching at her door for
the past fourty-five minutes. She found the sallow body, lying flat out
in a pool of blood.
The police and ambulance arrived. Her parents were called and the girl
was taken to the near by infirmary. A statement was made to the local
newspaper and everything went as she had thought it would except for
two things.
As a thirty-one year old journalism student. I am writing this report
to everyone who claimed that they knew this girl. You people should be
ashamed of yourselves. People have actually told me themselves of how
they knew this girl so well.
Well, I think I would know. You see, the two things that didn't go
quite as planned was that there was no funeral, there was no funeral
because the girl had not mannaged to kill herself. Instead, she was
sent off to a mental asylum and treated for depression. Meanwhile, the
whole town was in a state of gossip and shock.
Here's two things that you all didn't know. Lisa Potter, that name that
you all got to know so very well, got out of the asylum after only a
year as doctors said that she had made great progress. She went on to
do journalism for a local newspaper and became quite successful under a
false name. But after only a month she decided to move to another town
as all the gossip about her annoyed her too much. She wrote her last
report and moved away. The second thing that you didn't know is that my
real name is not actually Linda Porret. If you would like to read her
last report, then go up to the top of this page and start reading,
again.

LISA POTTER