The Horrible Wait

Like a soldier in battle she pushed on, knowing she would last only but a few seconds more. Half hoping she would live to see the next sunrise; she dragged along, doing just the bare minimum. Her wounds sighed. The heavy weight of her knapsack weighed down upon her and she slouched under its weight. It was horrible, having to wait for her own death. Besides, she was bored and had no patience. Couldn't it just be over with? The wait was agonizing. But she pushed on. Like a soldier with a battle wound.

Her battle wounds were on her arms and legs, given by the most lethal of razors. She was a teenager, her knapsack of depression heavy on her shoulders. In the war of her life, she struggled through battle, through battle. But the wait. She had no patience or courage. The wait was agonizing; how would you feel if you knew you were going to have to stab a knife in your heart in a week?