The minutes echoed loudly in the room. Flashes of light filled the room as the cars passed by on the street below. The minutes passing still ticked, ticked, ticked loudly in the silent dark room. It was a dark night, not a single star lighting the sheer black sky. Silence. Complete silence. Not even a whisper of the wind could be heard. Yet it was deafening.  The oppressing silence and darkness was suffocating her underneath the sheets. She still could smell him in her bed, on herself, everywhere. It was clear, the next step. It was. She threw the sheets off, and trod lightly to the door, opened it, wincing slightly at the creak of the door, and went out. No one saw her. No one knew. No one could have stopped her anyway.

She walked to the playground nearby and sat on the swing. Distant lightning flashed in the sky and suddenly it poured. She just sat there, swinging in the rain. Higher and higher. Then she let go and tumbled onto the grass. Lying there on the ground, looking up, watching the raindrops falling down from the sky, she closed her eyes and laughed. Cleanse me, she prayed, and forgive me. Cleanse me and end the pain.   

The next morning, there was a lovely fresh crisp scent of rain all around. The usually silent playground, however, was in a bustle. A yellow tape cornered off a section of the playground in front of the swings. Grownups stood on the fringe of the playground, peering in, hugging their children tightly to their bosom, whispering at hushed volumes to each other. In the middle of the grass patch cornered off lay a girl of about twelve. Pale, freckled and soaked, she lay there with a smile on her face. In her white nightgown, she looked just like an angel. Just that there were slit marks on her wrists. Here, the fresh smell of a new morning was tainted with the metallic smell that hung in the air. The innocence of the playground was lost, forever gone. Just like her innocence. Forever gone.

A police officer questioned a couple. The wife was sobbing hysterically. The man supporting her looked equally distressed. As the police officer left, labeling the case as a ‘typical teenage suicide case’, there was relief written on the man’s face. He wouldn’t be exposed. She had brought their secret to her grave, which was so convenient. After all, he thought with satisfaction, she was always Daddy’s Little Girl. Even to the very end.