Hun, where is the Sun?

“The sun would shine, and everything would turn out fine.” That's what Alice Devares kept on telling herself. Until one day, her mantra changed— The sun will shine, and everything would turn out fine, even if my heart is a flat line. 

The first time she laid her eyes on the train, she knew that it would someday play a definite role in her life. Along the lines of beginnings and endings, it would be there. She didn't ride it. It was out of her route. But sometimes, she stands on the sidelines, on the pavement where passengers wait and watch as the people come and go. 

She liked to think that maybe, that simple every-day commute had dictated a person's destiny. 

Meeting trains at the parallel rails could have sent thousands of people away from each other, to the opposing sides of the world. The very sign of different paths. Of different lives. And it could have brought people together too.  The guy who carried the girl's bag may help her in ways she didn't expect.  Maybe the man from the suburbs who was looking for a job could find what he really need in his life. Maybe, the train was their gateway to happiness. To new beginnings. To the peak of their lives. 

She liked pondering over those maybes. And when she's done, she'll wait for the red and white pole to be dragged up and cross the streets, thinking: now is not the time. 

But now, as she watched the boom gate that stopped people from crossing when the trains were about to run on the old, dingy, railway— she felt the affirmation of time and fate. The soft push of being released from worries. The calming whisper of relief. There were no people at the pavements, no one was waiting, no one was watching.

It's time to finally give up on the world. Afterall, it was not a question of 'if', rather, it was a question of 'when'.

She ducked and crossed over the boom gate. She heard the chugging sound of the approaching machine. Her heart rang in her ear.

Alice took her phone out of her pocket. The train schedule had never been delayed. At exactly 3:00, she would be overrun by the train and would be nothing but a dilapidated and mangled remain of flesh, blood, and broken bones. Never the prettiest way, but always the fastest.

2:58. Her phone vibrated. A text message.

3:00. She lurched forward, her head hitting the floor, blood pooling below.

3:40. Alice Devares was sent to the emergency room, her future unknown. 

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If there was one thing that Alice had been good at, it was loving so much, that for you, no other affection would be enough.

Time she would bend, money she would give, words she would say, and herself she would sacrifice. 

And at the end of the day, no matter the hardship, no matter how unfair it felt,

she would only say, "It's okay. If it's for them, everything is okay."

People would never understand why she would do that, no one understood how she did everything for the happiness of others.

Even I don't.

All I know was, as long as they're happy, everything was good. Their happiness was enough. Everything was about them. Not about Alice.

Never about Alice.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It was all over the news.

"Teenager hit by the train— accident or suicide?"

"Teenager fighting for her life, is it a question of discipline or mental illness?"

They kept on saying that she had been fine: good grades, caring family, healthy social life, goes out with friends every now and then, a semi- volunteer for church activities— she had been living life the best way possible. So, how could she decide to die, just like that?

Family and friends were asked, did she show any signs? But they were only answered with blank stares and sobs. 

No one knew how she felt. How deep she was in that endless pit of wallowing emptiness. They never knew that she had reached the point of madness that she would welcome the clenching ache of pain just to feel anything.

No one noticed. No one asked. No one knew that the girl they loved and who loved them so much had stopped loving herself.

But I did. And I feel guilty. 

There was this lingering thought that maybe I could have stopped it. But who am I kidding? I was only at the sidelines, never meant to be at the center and take action. And so, I watched as I see Alice plunge herself into breaking that was beyond repair.

But I don't and can't blame anyone. Alice's decision wasn't a sudden thought that she grabbed. It was a parasite that clung to her body— a parasite that fed on her insecurities and grew and covered every sane part of her. A parasite that grew on her and lived her life wanting to end it all too soon.

Everything had started with something forbidden. A forbidden pleasure caused by pain.

The scar had long faded, but the image of it is still fresh in my mind. A thin red line. A line not deep enough to kill. It wasn't near enough to hit the pulse. 

But the sting was enough to promise her of a sudden release. A reminder that if she do cut it near and deep enough— she would be relieved for everything.

No one knew of this. And back then, I didn't even know if someone cared.