“Please don’t go.”
“Don’t spill your tears. A woman can not overstay her welcome,” Molly spoke in her stuck-up maiden voice, “you simply must know that as well as I do.”
“When can I see you again?”
Molly turned away. Tapped her boot impatiently.
“In your dreams, in your thoughts.. and we’ll meet here, once every year. See, I can rhyme too!”
“On Vagina Day,” Becky smiled and licked the salty tears from her lips.
“Damn right, girl. Vagina Day. Don’t forget.”.
With that, Molly was gone.
She walked away from the roof, out into the darkness of the night. Becky lay down in the fetal position and soaked the rugged concrete roof with her tears. When she ran out, she climbed down and managed to get back into bed. Not her own, but the one furthest away in the southeast corner.
After Molly’s death she wouldn’t leave that bed, even when they decided to give it to a new girl she wouldn’t stop screaming and kicking them, so eventually they budged and let her have it. She fell asleep in it every night and dreamt about her. Blue sky, clouds.
Molly, the goddess of the winds.
A few more words: Since this story deals with suicide, I feel obliged to let you know that, if you suffer from depression and/or anxiety, please reach out. Don’t keep it to yourself. You’re not alone. Talk to somebody, reach out online, google the phone number for a support line in your country and make the call. Good luck. Thanks for reading.