When Lives Slip

• Morgan Larkin, Grade 8, Pimlico State High School
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

For most of her life, she hadn’t felt worthy. Love, affection, beauty and happiness were forbidden, according to her. Yet she had strived, yearned for greatness since she was six and continued, even though admittedly she knew that she still would not grant herself those things that she wanted most. She wanted to be like the other girls, popular and pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. They always looked happy. But all she saw was a sour girl with thin mousy hair and freckles.

Now she spoke with Death. Its words were kind and promising, but Eliza didn’t think she should follow It. She thought it would be best if she lingered on the brink – maybe because she believed that she did not deserve the peace death offered. It wasn’t like there was anyone who was waiting for her to resurface from the hefty slumber that seemed to rightfully imprison her.

She could feel Death touch her, the cold, stony texture of Its fingers folding gently around her wrist. Eliza pulled free, refusing to allow herself the blissfulness of following the blurred, bright figure of Death. ‘Come,’ It whispered. ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘Come, come and join them,’ It persisted, but she was firm. ‘No, I don’t deserve it. I failed.’

Eliza could feel her own agony creeping up on her again, which meant that she wouldn’t be able to remain in limbo for much longer. The morphine was fading. She considered her dilemma: which would discipline her further, returning to her pain, or dancing on the line of another world, just to remind her of what she didn’t deserve? ‘You deserve this pain, either way,’ she reminded herself, ‘you deserve this agony, you failure.’

However, Death held onto her. Eliza didn’t know what Its plan was, but that didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let It take her. ‘You believe that you’re underserving, that you failed them. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they failed you?’ Death hissed. Its voice resembled nails down a chalk board, but, simultaneously, it was the sweetest sound one would surely ever hear. It sounded so reassuring, and Eliza so desperately longed to lay her faith in It, but she couldn’t. For ten years she had taught herself that she was the letdown, the disappointment, and she had decided that she wouldn’t let anyone tell her otherwise.

Still, Death persisted. It screeched at her now, though they were not particularly cruel words – or wouldn’t be, to a different person. ‘You could not have done anything! You couldn’t have assisted them, they were already dead! Cease this absurdity and succumb! You are not responsible for your family’s deaths!’ Eliza was deeply cut by Its words, as if It had now hollowed out her very soul. ‘No,’ she whispered, her voice breaking, ‘It was my fault. I let them slip.’