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Screaming. She was screaming again. In her head, but much louder than before, much louder than yesterday and far louder than last week

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SCREAMING She hesitantly began. "Natasha screamed. She knew the answer but she couldn't pluck it from the sea of muddle that was her head. Slamming down her pen she agreed with herself that a break would be the best option. She made her way towards the kitchen. Their large family house is scattered with family photos, walking through the hall she stopped to look at one such picture, showing her family smiling and joyful, happy. A perfectionist - Natasha straightened the frame and continued, thinking about nothing much in particular." The girl paused, took a deep breath and continued. "Downstairs her mother was in the kitchen, the telephone cradled between chin and shoulder. A glass lay on the counter. As Natasha entered her mum put down the phone, Natasha caught sight of the glass and stared at it. She scanned the room and immediately caught sight of the inevitable, a bottle of wine, nearly finished sat inconspicuously behind a cooking book by the stove. Natasha looked briefly at the bottle, and then left without saying a word. ...read more.


She had grown up too quickly, her childhood haunted. She'd tried to talk to people, no one else understood because no one lived through it. It didn't sound a big deal to other people; this was Natasha's hell. School was difficult; teachers disliked her-she was sure, but then again her mother had always called her selfish and attention seeking so maybe she had told herself this to make up for the endless trouble she seemed to be getting herself into at school. She'd often considered suicide, a way of escape, but her foolish attempts at overdosing and slashing her wrists before, had left her with nothing but sickness and unsightly red blotches half way up her arms. It was a selfish way to die anyway. She hated winter- it depressed her further. She often questioned herself whether she was depressed; she asked her self the same question again tonight. She didn't know. Just like she didn't know the answers to all the monotonous questions she had pondered over however many hundreds of times. Why me? ...read more.


She questioned herself, as she always did - out of control? Maybe, but she didn't have time to even ask herself questions. She was crying now. She sat in a small dusty smelling room, accompanied by a man who reminded her slightly of her uncle before he died. The Large uniformed officer reassuringly placed his hand on her shoulder. Lifting her head she stared at him through misty eyes and blurted, "I'm sorry officer, that's all I know about the night before, they had an argument, that's when she came to my house and told me all that I've told you." She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jumper. "Natasha was not one to let people hang clouds over her, it had got too much" The man, clearly moved by the statement stood and again rested his hand on her shoulder. This eased her slightly, she felt secure under his grasp. He finished by saying, "Thank you Miss Green, I understand how hard this must be for you, obviously Natasha was a very sad young woman. Please don't blame yourself, no-one could have foreseen her suicide." ?? ?? ?? ?? Abigail Wiggins 10TXS 19/10/2000 Miss Grundy GCSE English ...read more.

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