Never Let Go by Holly Pratt

CW: themes of suicidal ideation, suicide

You are young when you see Persephone do her trick for the first time. Alone in the woods, a snail crushed underfoot. She looks at it, her lips crooked downwards and eyes glassy. Her fingertips touch the cracked pieces of shell and the world around you exhales. You watch it. You watch the corpse of the snail knit itself back together. Persephone is pleased with herself, ecstatic. “Look at what I’ve done!” she crows. Yes, look what she’s done.

Her trick comes back again and again. She gives you flowers when you are twelve. They are delicate roses, luscious and red. They are born of the throes of young love, of old friendship, of a crush. They are feelings that are never going away. She will horde her love for you forever. Each time the flowers threaten to droop, a petal threatens to fall, she brings them back. A touch of her hands and they unfurl as if freshly picked once more.

You ask her, one day, in the throes of teenage melancholia, if she would do the same to you. “Would you bring me back?” you ask, as roadkill springs to life besides your pulled-over car. “Of course,” she replies, without a pause, without a thought, “I would never let you die, let you go, let you suffer.” For some reason, that is not the answer you want.

It takes time to work out why, to work out why you would not yearn for such a dear friend to keep you close, keep you alive. But then you are older and life has taken its toll. Each day your mind and body scream in tandem, dragging you down, down, down. Persephone revives the roses. She tells you of her life, of her love. She does not ask after yours, does not see the agony weighing you down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

The pills rattle down your throat like marbles down a run in a lost childhood game. They are not quick but they are quiet, they do not hurt. You feel it all slip away from you, a silent bliss taking over.

You awake. Gasping. Clawing. Aching. Persephone’s hand cradles your face. Her fingers are locked around you, affection becoming a demanding grip. “What happened?” She soothes you. Silences you. “I got here just in time, you’re alright, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

You’re alive. You’re not alright. “Don’t do that again, please not do that again.” You plead to deafened ears, to ears covered by hands so that they need not listen. Persephone is resolute. She loves you, loves you, loves you. She will not let you go.

You slit your flesh. Blood pools like beads before rushing out, gushing out, leaving you like a torrent. Out goes the blood, out goes your mind; your pain is flushed out with it. But then it’s her hands on yours, blood retreating inside, skin knitting back together. “Don’t go.” A featherlight kiss like a brand to your neck.

You are in an accident. A too-crowded platform. One poor move and a domino effect. A nudge that tumbles through the people all the way to you. Your arms flail, feet lose grip, the track sends a jolt of electric through you. They hear you scream, maybe smell burning flesh. The train doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Bones crunch in final moment of clarity. You are dead, dead, dead.

She brings you back. Torn-up guts and limbs and flesh and blood coming back together when it should not. Invisible stitches from in-denial fingertips holding you together. A craft that threatens to fall apart from too-weak glue. You feel every past break, every crack, every ravine threatening to open. “Don’t do that again,” words burning with fury. Fingers digging in. “Don’t leave me. I love you, love you, love-”

You grab her back, scrabbling fingers on perfect form. They find her throat, wrap round it tight. It hurts. You hurt so much. You hurt so much. You hurt so much. She splutters beneath you. Chokes. Gasps. You cannot hear it above you agony. You just feel it, feel her shudder out of existence. Her hands made you live, live, live. Yours can only kill. You snuff her out. Flame extinguished.

You make her let go. And you come undone. Invisible stitches fall apart and you tear back into pieces. Pieces strewn across her floor, her body, her home. She will not bring you back. Cannot make you return. You are gone, gone, gone. There is silence where you’ll now remain.