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Leaving Early
by Natalie Murray
Ana drew straight from the heart. Not stopping between each stroke to examine the process, or muse over every detail. The white paper was becoming dark and confused as the charcoal leapt onto it creating a scene of despair and misery. In the distance was the city. The brutal, uncaring city. In the foreground sat a girl, alone on the train tracks. Her head hung low and her arms wrapped around her legs, attempting to block the violent cold wind. Ana had been drawing for forty minutes, sprawled on the luxurious Italian rug, while her therapist remained, austere, in her reclined arm chair, filing her impeccable manicure. The hour session had almost finished. This week, like every other, nothing substantial had been achieved. Ana remained silent and distant while the therapist, now accustomed to Ana's manner, prodded every so often, but mostly stayed silent.
"What is that, that you're drawing, Ana?" queried the therapist. Ana remained silent. Absorbing herself in her drawing.
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Whether it was the misery of the black charcoal drawing, the dissonant, humming music or the cloyingly sweet smell of carnations that made her feel dizzy, her entire body slumped, hard against the rug, her head landing with a loud thump. Memories came rushing into her mind engulfing her entire body. She trembled from the thoughts and prayed to be awoken from the nightmares.
She was young again, probably ten. Ana and Kristen sat on the playground planning their weddings, tracing long flowing white gowns in the sand with sticks. Then - she couldn't remember the day it happened a stone rolled in front of their futures. The sticks were dropped along with the dreams and they started planning their funerals instead.
Kristen wanted a yellow dress and an ebony casket to carry her to eternity. Her family laughed when she bought the yellow dress. They told her she was crazy to buy a formal dress before she even had a date. They didn't understand that Kristen was buying her shroud. Kristen's yellow dress hangs figureless in her wardrobe while she lies in a white gown like a child taking first communion, a white prayer book pressed in her hands, the stiff lace scratching her for eternity.
"Tell it to stop. STOP!" howled Ana. The therapist called security. Ana was thrown into a rage of violence, her body a contorted entity, thrashing itself into the glass coffee table. The table toppled under her weight, smashing into a thousand pieces of glass which scattered into the plush rug.
She could feel her spinal cord etched into the unyielding floorboards. Her arms were taut, held hard against the floor. A strange sensation engulfed each nerve, following the path to her brain where they released a flood of memories, forcing Ana to recoil and drown the rigidity of her body. She lay now, feeble, sobbing like a baby. Her mind endlessly replaying the images of the night. The night that Kristen died.
It was almost midnight. Only forty minutes now until it would all be over. They had planned for this for months and now, in just a few short moments it would be done. It would be over. Nothing would change it; it would be irreversible, final.
The faint light from their torch supplied little light. Its illumination attracted the fire flies which darted aimlessly in the cold night. They could see the train tracks now, only a few metres from the edge of the bush. The train was not in sight. They were in luck. They would have enough time. They approached the train tracks, superficially content and at ease. Their voices sounding desperately happy, like people laughing when all they really wanted was to cry. Inside, their hearts and minds were screaming. Crying out to the world. But no one would listen. No one could hear. Ana and Kristen covered themselves in the thick, woollen blankets, their long coats not sufficient to block the cold winds. They were both silent now, fearing that conversation would distract them from the task ahead. They both knew what they needed to do. There was no need to talk. No need to reveal to each other their unsettling feelings.
Kristen lay down on the train tracks. The coldness of the metal pierced through her blanket and coat, reaching her back with a painful sting. Ana grabbed the rope which she had thrown on the ground. Her hands were trembling as she grasped her best friends bare wrist. It was cold to touch. She could feel the hairs on her arm, erect. She tightly wound the rope round her wrist, adjoining it to the train tracks. She checked her watch, it was ten to twelve. She had better hurry. She gripped Kristen's other wrist, placing it on a cross bar of the tracks. She could sense the resistance in Kristen's arm. Battling with the force with which Ana was tying it to the tracks. Ana lay now, just metres from Kristen. She was able to tie one arm, loosely, to the tracks. This would be sufficient. It would keep her in place. Now they lay there, just the two of them, Ana and Kristen. They finally felt free and boundless. They felt afraid and unafraid.
In the remote distance, probably hundreds of metres away, the steady sound of the train, come drumming closer and closer. Its wheels, clocking the distance through the desolate land. The night, until now, was peaceful. The land had slept since the sun had descended. Nature was still, seemed ageless, attuned and perfect. It didn't take long for man to disrupt the accord. Already, trees thrashed against the impact of the trains speed, creatures awoke, their eyes illumed and startled. They ran off into the scrub, into the night, away from the train, away from man.
Ana and Kristen both shut their eyes, the headlights from the train intolerable. It was closer approaching, the beams of light drawing nearer, more intense, while the dissonant beating of the engine and wheels was slowly becoming an echo, dying away. Taking its place was a piercing shrill, as the wheels began grinding the tracks, the train slowing. Sparks flew through the night, more aglow than the fireflies darting aimlessly in the distance. It was nearing close now, slowing but still moving at a deafening pace. Ana was aware what was happening. Keeping her eyes tightly shut she tugged at the rope, freeing herself from its hold. She rolled now, closer to Kristen, closer to the train. Untying Kristen would take too long, so they lay, trembling, praying the train would reach them. It did. It reached where they lay, then came to a halt.
It had been twelve months now since the operation. A broken jaw, crushed ribs, multiple fractures, second degree burns, ruptured muscle and ligament speech impairment, breathing difficulties, brain damage, permanent scarring Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Depression.
Ana was lucky. She lived. The memories were still there. They would haunt her forever. She lived with them, dreamt about them, went mad because of them. But as she walked out of therapy that day, she held her head high, for the first time. She had discovered life, that she was not perfect, nor anyone else, and she had discovered that hope was finally more tangible to her than despair.
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