This Is Exile

Just how exactly does a house become haunted?

A sort of prequel to 'There Was A Wizard In My Room', 'Haunt These Halls' & 'id'.

Do not read this expecting a nice short telling. Notice the genre and the CAUTION!

Note: This is written by Kylie, not Dorothy. Kylie rendered her account inaccessible, and asked to post it here instead.
Author's note: This is completely true, every word, and it follows my thoughts and actions in what I intended to be my final weeks. Please read with caution.

Kylie smiled her first genuine smile in several weeks, maybe even months. The plan was simple, but genius, and foolproof. An hour later, she set her plan in motion.

I’m moving out on January 4, her text to her case manager read. We can talk about it on Tues, if you want.

The first step was taken; there was no turning back. That simple action -a text message- banished any fears or uncertainty she may have had. She went downstairs to the staff office to add some momentum.

Warning: This story follows the thoughts of a woman who is very near committing suicide. Please read with caution if this is a trigger for you.

Aelita sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at her open medicine cabinet. On the bottom shelf, there were two bottles, with very different purposes.

The first, a bottle of Estrogen, brand new from the pharmacy. The other, a half full bottle of extra strength sleeping pills.

Jenny Chapter 3
By Princess

Fade To Black

A girl's reflections as she prepares to end the last chapter.

And so she stood on the edge of the cliff, tears burning her cheeks and blurring her vision. She was empty now … empty of love … empty of fear … empty of hope … empty of the faith that had carried her through the darkness for so long.

www.facebook.com/people/Quincy-Kurtz/1540905560
There is a picture of what i look like on their and im afraid i waited too long because of afraid of peoples (my parents, teachers, students ect) reactions. My mom just made a comment about how I make an ugly girl and i'm really considering it right now. It almost always at the corner of my thoughts but right now Im considering on acting on the impulse for the first time in a while.

1 Ohio school, 4 bullied teens dead by own hand

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5iEpyXZfAYt...

Gee this sounds all too familliar:
"Some students say the problem is the culture of conformity in this city of about 50,000 people: If you're not an athlete or cheerleader, you're not cool. And if you're not cool, you're a prime target for the bullies."

As I sat there in the church, I thought of how fragile and short life is. My friend Christy had found out she had Cancer and felt the pain would be too much to bear so she ended her life. She had been dealing with Bipolar Disorder all of her life and I guess the added news of her diagnosis proved to be too much. I had even had thoughts of doing the same thing. The stress of living my life to make my family happy was beginning to become too much. I spent twenty three years of my life trying to fit into a role as a son, grandson and brother. I was miserable.

The crowd in the park, nearly forty stories below, looks like ants running around an ant-hill. The perfectly sunny, spring Saturday had brought many people out from their winter hibernations, releasing their enthusiasm and bringing a nearly euphoric buzz to the park.

The problem for me is that I’m standing at the top of the building, not in the park, and if I move one step farther I’ll quickly enter the street next to it.

After a long fall, that is.

In a world of chaos and confusion we all wish to find that one place we can call our sanctuary, but how do we get there and at what cost does it come?

This story is just that, a story, but should none the less be taken VERY seriously. It’s Copyright 2002-2009, by ME (JulieChristine) and was inspired by events in my own, and the lives of others I know. All charecters in this story are completely fictional, as are the events described herein.

I had hoped for so long it wouldn't end like this.

I'd tried hiding it, denying who I was, and making myself fit in, but in the end his words proved right.

Driving to work this morning, the traffic sucked, as it usually does in the Metroplex. I made up some time once I got past the inevitable fender-bender that had slowed everybody down; and arrived at work only a few minutes late. Joe, my supervisor, was waiting for me when I walked in.

“My office, please, Karen.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as he got to the end of the poorly maintained dirt road with its pandemic of pot holes and twisty ruts. His ancient Chevy's headlights goaded the muggy midsummer night's hoards of flying bugs into maniacal Kamikaze attacks on his rusting piebald vehicle.