Last of Me

Hopeless and sunken into disparity, I glance drearily at the door. It’s locked and now my fate may be sealed. As the intense grip of the dagger in my clutches strengthens and slowly but steadily it elevates towards my neck, this is what seemed to be the last of me. Then in an instant a small image of me draped in an elegant white gown with ivory wings and a golden halo appeared on my right shoulder speaking in a soothing angelic voice discouraging the act. “Ashley you’re so much better than that and this is not the end.” But just as quickly as she said those words in fear that she just may lose this battle, on my left shoulder, arose a hot, fiery tempered image of me clothed in a leathery, demonic red ensemble urging me to go on and get it over with. “I’ve lost everything and everyone you ever really cared about so why not just end it now? Nobody will care.” She says. So the knife inches closer. Then my angel shows me my little sister who idolized me now mourning me, my forsaken mother’s weeping eyes, and my older brother’s broken heart. And with that my angel has won what could’ve been the last of me.