The room was dark and the storm could be heard hitting against the roof and windows mercilessly. She lay on the floor watching, as each one of her tears slid to the floor. Another suicide attempt, failed. The pills had made a perfect mixture with the water as it all ran from her body out her nose into the toilet. She had put her hands together to make a circle around the toilet seat. She looked at her arms and an unrelated thought crossed her mind.

She was on the darker side of the African race, all the shades of black, all beautiful, but somehow each wanted to be light skinned. Personally she never liked to engage in conversations about the shade of black skin, but all around her people always seemed to be concerned about the shade of their skin.

She remembered her mother rocking her back and forth on days like this. She used to be so afraid of thunder and her mother would sing softly, rocking her to sleep. They were very poor and always silenced the hungry thoughts with sleep. She swore when she was older she would work very hard to never feel like that again and she did. The fridge was full, her pantry was stocked up and her bank account was healthy.

She carefully eased herself to the cold floor, she couldn’t escape this feeling that she was not happy. Sometimes she thought she would put a bucket under her chin to see where her tears would reach each week. She looked out the door to her bedroom. She had been so obsessed about how she wanted to be, that if she had money she’d be happy.

She waited. Years passed and no happiness came. She bought more expensive stuff, still happiness never seemed to come. There wasn’t anything wrong with her life, she had a good job, good friends and a loving boyfriend; she should be happy but she wasn’t. Maybe she will renovate the house she thought to herself, a lot more expensive, this time she was successful after all.

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