Kickoff written by Ashmlin11

Beyond Broken

Deal with reality, or create a distraction?

She sipped it slowly. It tasted bittersweet, like all the memories she could recall. She knew she would be alright after this though. It was all part of the good Lords great plan. At lease that's what they told her in church.
Her heart was a block of cement hanging by a chain in her chest, swaying slowly, turning, threatening to drop at any moment. When it did, she knew it would be hell. That was the part she was trying to outrun.
She didn't know what was in this drink and she didn't care. It might kill her, but she was okay with that. She didn't care much about anything anymore. These people could poison her, boil her alive, or make a slave of her if they wanted to. She wouldn't fight them. She was too tired of fighting.
She fought her husband to keep him out of the nut house. She fought the doctors to treat her son. She fought his teachers because they didn't understand him. Her family thought he was a "sick little demon". Years of being strong for him turned into a skittle party and
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a shot of who-knows-what when he died.
He died. He was gone. All that fighting, all the isolation she dealt with was in vein, because in the end she couldn't save him. She couldn't make him accepted by anyone. Her husband even divorced her because of it.
But how could a mother abandon her child? It was trying, and it was frightening, but she did it alone. Things were starting to get better after his last therapy visit. His mood improved, he ate better. For nearly two weeks he was making the transition to being a normal child. He wanted to go outside. He wanted to talk and play. He was smiling. By God, he was smiling. Then one day she went to his room to wake him for school, and she found him. He lay on his side in his bed. He looked comfortable with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. She shook him gently but he didn't respond. She shook him again a little harder, and that's when she saw the blood. She ripped the blanket off of him to reveal the blood soaked mattress, and a small
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pocket knife wrapped in one hand.
He had slit his throat, taking his own life. The tormented thirteen year old had used the knife his father gave him to kill himself one night after his mother had gone to sleep.
She closed her eyes and swallowed the rest of what was in her cup, then reached for another pill and another drink.
A shudder flowed through her as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She didn't turn to see who it was, she just kept on drinking. She didn't stop until she felt lips by her ear and heard a voice say "I haven't seen you here before."
Still without looking, she said, "Because I haven't been here before."
She could feel him start to smile now, and there was warm breath on her neck as his hand slid down her arm. She didn't feel panic, like she usually would. She was just feeling the sensations of him around her. A purely physical reaction. Emotions were for the weak anyway. She didn't have time for those.
His hand stopped at the groove of her arm and he said to
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her with a more friendly tone, "Would you like to go outside? Its pretty crowded in here. Plus I need some air and would love a pretty lady to accompany me."
A smile cracked on her face and felt very out of place. She agreed, it was very crowded in here. And loud. And the fresh air might do her some good. She nodded an "okay" and followed him out of the house.
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