Flowers for the Dead

Lynn glanced up at the overcast gray sky, steeling herself for what she was about to do. Around her rain poured down in seemingly endless sheets of icy-cold droplets, soaking her to the bone. Limp strands of light brown hair fell across her back, clinging to her waterlogged clothes. Below her water churned and roared, slamming against the pillars supporting the pier. It was a ten--maybe twelve--foot drop into the icy waters.

The wind howled and wailed, a cacophony of distress. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Then she ran to the edge of the pier--and jumped.

She doubted that her pitiful excuse of a family would miss her. Her sister spent all her time with her nose stuck in a textbook, and her parents completely ignored her. She was nothing, a nobody to them. It was always Lenne this, Lenne that. Perfect Lenne, beautiful Lenne, brilliant Lenne. They had never paid any attention to her when she was alive, what difference would it make when she was dead? She had nothing left to return to, nothing worth staying for. Her whole life seemed to be full of nothings. But she had stopped caring a long time ago. Now she would do anything to get rid of the horrible emptiness that had welled up within her.

She plunged head-first into the water. It was cold, freezing cold. A sense of numbness was quickly spreading through her body. She gasped for air, inhaling lungfuls of water instead. She had read somewhere that drowning was like falling asleep. It was far from it.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed her around the waist. Semiconcious, she felt herself being lifted up. After what seemed like ages, she broke through the surface of the water. Coughing and spluttering, she breathed in great lungfuls of air.