If the light that shines down on me is forever to be a sight I see, then I simply do not wish to see it. If the air that brings me life is forever shared by the people I have grown to hate, then I do not wish to live amongst them. It is true, my head is as large as my heart is black, but my face is a deception of the truth, a lie of what I truly feel and love.
My “beloved” sister, the White Queen, with her perfect complexion and her blooming personality… How it sickens me. This world follows those who look beautiful and pretty, and hiss at those who are deemed less desirable to the human eye. Why am I so ugly? It is not like I chose to look this way, I did not wish to be hated by all… Did I?
As I gaze softly in the mirror in an almost empty room, I look upon myself and question life. Is there any point? Is there any positivity of living in such a world that looks down upon those who are different? I am beautiful, but in my own way. Others may not see it, but I do.
Oh, how I wish I were loved. I am forever telling myself it is better to be feared than loved, better to hate than to love and lose. The people that are my so call servants do not respect me, nor do they even pity me. They fear me. As I walk by, forcing myself to hold a gurn upon my face, I see their skin trembling. I can almost feel it.
Is this world better off without me? Is it too late for redemption? I have aged into the woman that people have believed me to be, a woman that is nothing more than a face of anguish. The faces of those who serve me are the faces I genuinely care for. As I walk along the halls of black and red, I hold back my temptation to smile gently to those who kneel before me. I love them, in a way.
The truth is, I see no point in living in a world in which no one wants you here. Is there any point? Would it be easier to simply… end this all?
A man once said to me that life is what you make it. How wrong he is. If that were true, then I would not feel the heat upon my skin that is the hatred of others. If that were true, then I would have made my life a sweet truth, not a bitter lie.
When I was a child, I used to tell myself that fame and fortune was the greatest gift of all. Only now have I came to realise that I told myself a lie. Fame and fortune is nothing. The greatest gift of all, is having those who love you around you. The sad truth, is that I am surrounded by no one who loves me. Not one person who would mourn me once I am no longer living, not a single life that would smile for me on my wedding day, if that day was to ever occur.
The tears that have now formed in my eyes flow steadily down my plump cheeks as they make their way to the ground, leaving behind a small puddle of self-pity and regret. I watch them stroll across my skin in the flawless mirror opposite me. My red lips begin to tremble as I reach forward and snatch up the knife on the rotten table to my right. The cold from the metal emulates the cold in my heart, the cold that I will never be free of, the cold that I forever deeply wish was a warmth.
Slowly, but surely, I raise the knife and hold it under my chin. My hand shakes uncontrollably. The metal reflects what light it can, lighting up my face to show even more of my beauty that is hidden by this monstrous mask that is my face.
For the final time, I take a gulp of air and shut my eyes. This world will not miss me, but I shall miss it, forever in life, and for an eternity in death. With one quick motion, I tug the knife across my skin, and end it all.