She was completely dependent on others. She couldn't leave the house. She was so scared of the people, of the world, of what she would do that the very thought of entering the hallway of the entrance of the house scared her.
All the rooms were connected to one another. She would have a bathroom in the middle. There was a kitchen and dining area on one side of the bathroom, a living area with bedroom features on the other. It was a three room life.
She would use the internet to buy things. Friends to help her. Luckily her health was fine. No one even thought much of it. The whole place was clean as though it was tidied every day.
She entertained herself by cooking random foods together, playing board games with herself and occasionally someone else if there was someone else with her and she wrote. She hadn't gone anymore mad. She hated everything on the outside and couldn't face it. She saw almost no point in life, but was too scared to end it. She wasn't at that point where she would risk it all, but there were many deep cuts all over her body. If she got angry, scared or couldn't see any hope, she would cut herself.
She never really understood people. She had made some good friends, but they never really understood her. It wasn't the same after a while. One day she was made able to work at home and was never seen again by the outside people.
It all became far too much. The stress of no more outside on her body and the fear of it all inside was far too much. She couldn't cope any longer. She hadn't seen anyone for the last two weeks for and longer than an hour all together. People popping in to give her what she needed. No contact with others other than work with emailing. There wasn't anyone to help her at this time, they are more wound up in their own problems to notice that there was nothing left inside of her.
She was an empty person. There was the body, but there was nothing on the inside.
She made a fire to try and end the coldness inside her. It didn't help. It was just too much. The ice was too strong for the warmth of the fire. The fire was the one which struggled. Eventually it died out.
When the fire had stopped, there wasn't anything to stop her this time. She didn't care about anything else. She wasn't any longer scared. Not scared enough that she wouldn't do it. She felt as though she had no choice. This was it.
This time, she set another fire. Made it look like an accident. Threw away the key she had that would allow her escape.
She lay there, the carpet setting on fire. She lay there, as though asleep, in a happy place where nothing could hurt her.
The fire spread. It got bigger and more fierce.
This was the second a fire truck appeared. It hit her. She started to burn. She couldn't even feel a thing. There was nothing they could do now. It was so fast, it was so strong, it killed her fast.
There was sadness in her friends and family, regret that they never helped sooner.
After the fire there was nothing else. The fire had ended quickly, but there was nothing that could be done for her. She was quick to burn. Quick for it to end. Quick to be free.
