1. Introduction

1. Introduction

She quietly closed the door behind her, reminding herself, it's now or never. It's what she'd been told, and, as she checked the time through the window, she once again took notice of how late she already was. She'd waited too long. She should've done all that at least two hours ago. But it wasn't her fault the situation wasn't exactly what she'd planned. They were supposed to be there..!
She hadn't wanted to go through it at all, if he wasn't there. He was why she had decided to do this, she was why she had turned into something she realized was gross and vile. He was why everything. She hadn't felt like she could do it without him. She was sure she would mourn the wreckage she'd caused, feared that she would break up in tiny little pieces just like the stupid glass bottle. She was scared, alone, and uncertain. Undecideed.

But she wasn't anymore.

She heaved a sighed and walked down the stairs of the newly-stained back porch, delighted that her feet seemed to find the right spots to avoid making any unnatural sound. Because, in the dead of night, she doubted anyone else would stumble down the stairs.
She silently tiptoed to the gate, shoved it to the side to prevent the wood from groaning against itself. The gate opened without a sound, and she didn't bother closing it behind her. She ran the length of the driveway, to the street, and veered left. She pressed the bottle firmly against her chest, reminding herself what she was doing outside at one in the morning. Two cars passed by as she walked. She muttered incoherently about what a drunken little girl she must've looked like. After all, she was barefooted.

The alleyway to the park wasn't far at all; it was adjescent to her neighboor's driveway, and wasn't long either, in itself. She rushed past her neighbor's window, which overlooked the alley, and swore too loudly when she got caught in spider webs. She figured she should've panicked more, but she was on a mission. She pressed the bottle closer to her chest and made her way to the little graver road that partly circled the four, fenced tennis courts.

She stood in the middle of the gravel road-lik space, standing, she knew, in front of her house, in front of the fence that separated it from the park. The hedge was tall and covered most of the view, but she recognized the sound of the old radio that had been left on in the backyard. She closed her eyes. It felt like the bottle was about to merge with her, but she knew that the opposite was moments from being completed.
She raised her head, looked at the moon. It was bright, and if she hadn't known any better, she would'Ve thought it was a full moon. She sighed, thanked the ethereal satellite for being there, looking over her. Her grip on the bottle loosened. Her left hand parted from it, and she lifted it slowly into the air, with her right arm. Adrenaline poured through her system, her heart was drumming in her ears.

"Three." She sighed, the beginning of the end had never seemed such a more appropriate thing.

"Two. One."

The bottle made brutal contact with the ground. She had thrown all of hersself into throwing it against the ground, and the sound of shattered glass was much more fulfilling than anything else she could've heard before. She sighed, happily: she'd gone through with it, alone, like she'd promised, like she'd been waiting for a year to. She'd kept every signle promise in those 365 days, she'd been bettering herself as much as she could.

The destroyed bottle was held together in places by the numerous rolls of electric tape she'd used to cover up the fact that it was, in fact, a vodka bottle. Bits of paper peeked out from underneath the shattered glass. She shoved her hands in her pockets, searched for her lighter. She held it in front of her in triumph when she found it. She bent over the wreckage on the ground, and with a few clicks, set the entire thing on fire.

She stood, watched the remains catch fire, and turned around to walk away. She stood taller, prouder, and stomped away. She never thought a grin that wide would fit in her face. It seemed so odd, but so… in its place.

"Whoever finds it can do whatever they want with it." She said, loudly, not bothering with whispering. "It's not my life anymore. It's not my life."

The paper caught fire more and more, gradually, and on a bits of ash that floated up in the sky, if someone had paid any attention, they could have read words of hatred, of loathing. Of self-hatred and loathing. Of anxiety, of indecision and of pain, disgust and disdain.

"It's not my life anymore."

She'd sworn to start over new, to close one book and start another. On the first page of that new book, like Paolo Coehlo had taught her so well, she would write the word "Courage". She would build on that. And she would be someone new, someone she would learn to love and cherish. She would become the person she'd always wanted to be.