Anna Wanted to Die
written by: Patricia Carragon
Anna wanted to die since she was five. As a child, she was ordinary in both appearance and intelligence. Criticism ruined her self-esteem. She tried to prove that she had talent, but she still wasn’t exceptional enough for praise. Her artistic ability was above average, but her grades didn’t meet the mark.
Her parents often fought over money and family matters, forgetting about Anna’s existence. There was no love in a toxic environment when Anna had no siblings or friends. She wasn’t allowed to bring her classmates up because her mother didn’t want them to mess up the apartment. Because of her mother’s antisocial behavior, Anna was ostracized. Instead of counting sheep at night, she would cry herself to sleep.
Anna reinvented herself as a happy child in her artwork, surviving the growing years until she was old enough to move out. Her father died the year before and left Anna enough money to rent an apartment in a row house in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Anna took her sketchbooks to her studio apartment, where she would draw at night and release her inner demons.
Adulthood was an eHarmony letdown. Men were more than just “the opposite sex.” They were younger versions of her father—domineering and always critical. The aftermath of sex was like having morning breath. Anna worked too hard to achieve a lukewarm climax. Her sketches turned grayer and more sinister.
She hid her feelings behind her wit, which she characterized as ‘drip-dry’—earthy one moment and cynical the next. She did manage to make a few friends and socialize often. Her art talent and luck procured her a job as an art director for a major advertising firm. Anna dressed in hipster chic and joined a local gym. But no one could see the shadow growing longer and darker in her thoughts. Her Master Lock kept her chameleon emotions safe, just as her sketchbooks did.
The COVID-19 lockdown came and went, and Anna had been out of work for almost two years. She did remote work for a telemarketing company, but opportunities were mostly part-time. She owed money on plastic cards. Furthermore, she had to withdraw from her friends. Love and sex made her sick. She also turned forty-five and was passed over again for a job in the art field. Her sketchbooks and pencils got an early retirement. Anna still wanted to die.
Anna planned her suicide for days and marked her calendar for the date and time––Saturday, November 29th at eleven p.m. On Thursday evening, Anna went to bed after finishing a bottle of rosé. She skipped the traditional turkey meal with her friends. Anna had nothing to be thankful for, and she still wanted to die.
A flood in the bathroom prompted the landlady to call Anna. Instead, she got her voicemail. The landlady ran upstairs and knocked on her tenant’s door.
But Anna didn’t hear a thing. She was already in a deep sleep. In her dream, she saw her family and friends sitting on folding chairs. Versions of herself as a child, teenager, and young adult sat in the audience. No one was smiling, nor did anyone speak. Anna couldn’t move or speak. Her hands were tied to a pole, and duct tape sealed her mouth. She began to sweat. Someone lit the newspapers underneath her feet. Flames flew upwards, igniting her t-shirt. Fear gripped her because Anna did not want to die.
Hearing the smoke alarm go off, the landlady finally unlocked the door. She followed the scent of burnt flesh, which led her to the small bedroom. Anna’s torso lay heaped with ash, but the rest of Anna’s body remained unburned. Sketchbooks filled with ash-like drawings of Joan of Arc at the stake were scattered by the bedside near an empty bottle of wine. The landlady made the sign of the cross before calling 9-11.
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