by Salasiah Radzali
One, two, three.
Three seconds. That's the most she could go without thinking about him.
She was like that every time; her lips would quiver, her hands would shake and her body would shiver as thoughts of him entered her head.
"He is special," she told her friends.
He is her obsession. Her one and only.
Four, five, six.
Six days have passed, and all of her friends were concerned. "Who is he?" they asked. But all they got was a coy glance and a fleeting smile.
Seven, eight, nine.
Nine weeks had come and gone, and she was still in love. Her friends knew about his physical looks: steel grey eyes framed by a head full of lush, red hair, and how he stood tall and thi, like a handsome willow in a field of sunny grass. They have seen the drawings, they have heard the descriptions, but never did they get to see him in the flesh. All of them unanimously concluded that the object of her affection did not exist in real life.
Ten, eleven twelve.
Twelve steps were taken before her girlfriend caught a brief reflection of red at her window. Oh, she exclaimed, he does exist after all! And with that thought in mind, she drove all the way back to her own house, to gossip to her friends on this new piece of information. It was only appropriate, she told them, that she left the lovebirds alone. Who knows what they were doing in her room! she said, with a giggle.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.
Fifteen days had gone when her mother last found her hanging in her room. Her long brown hair was hacked short and dyed an unnatural shade of dark red. There were dye spilled all over the room, and on the day she was found dead, the colour shone eerily beneath her feet, like blood.
© Salasiah Radzali 2009
Salasiah Radzali is a super nerdy person who's really into books, comics, TV shows and Photoshop graphics.