It has been a while...

I know I haven't made a post in a really really REALLY long time, because I was in Europe, and busy doing stuff. I will make a blog post about my Europe trip in the near future, but I just finished this short story I had been working on it since I got back, and I feel like I wanted to post it instead of a post about my trip to Europe.
It is a completely RAW version of the story, which means I didn't edit it. I didn't go through and fix up my grammar, or change some vocabulary. I just decided I would post it completely raw, I feel like it makes it more real in a sense. I write every single one of my stories by hand, so they take me a really long time to complete, and type up. It is probably my shortest short story I have ever written. I am a little bit embarrassed about it, but here goes.

Half-Dead

          She hardly felt human at times. Especially lately. The first time she gave up hope was a long time ago. She thought that was it. There would be no more breakdowns, because she'd be dead soon. Well, she was partially right. There were no more breakdowns, and she was half dead. Her mind wandered, and she found herself at the sea. She could hear it, and taste the salt upon her lips. In her mind, she was all alone. No one could laugh at her, or punch their poisonous words through her fragile soul. The only thing she could feel was the sweet sea breeze dancing with her long auburn hair. She could hear herself giggle. Girlish, childish, cute, and completely her own. No holding back. In her dream, she danced on the shore. Twirling, doing her own form of ballet. She could do as she pleased.
          Sometimes she was dressed in a long white gown, that flowed carelessly in the breezy wind, picking it up as she twirled, and ran across the sand. Other times, she wore nothing, letting the sea watch her in her complete vulnerability. The salt stuck to her skin, and the sea caressed her more gently than she had ever felt in her life, the gentle hands touched her face, and kissed her tenderly.
          She dreamed all day. Finding herself in many places such as hill tops over looking pastures of sheep, air filled with manure, and the Earthy scent. Other times she was in a town, empty, with a long gravel road disappearing into each horizon she found. With exotic shops on each side of her, filled with anything she could have ever wanted. But, no matter where the dream had started, she always found herself back at the sea. This is where she had always belonged, she preferred it this way. It was just her, and her sea.
          One evening she sat in the sand, and threw her head back as she faced the sea. The sun was setting, and everything was calm. She could only hear the waves crashing upon the sandy shore. With her eyes squeezed tight, she listened. She listened with all her might, she listened as best as she could. She listened to everything, and sometimes she listened so well it was almost as if her ears sprouted other ears, and she could really hear. Every time she had moments like this, moments where she could really hear, she swore she could hear the sea beckoning to her. Calling her name, and telling her to wake up. She laughed every time. Why would she wake up? This is where she belonged. This is exactly where she wanted to be. After all, this is where she felt most alive

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There had always been an odd silence in the room. The ceiling fan whirred methodically, the sound of the heart beat monitor beeped incessantly. Beep... beep... beep. The IV dripped every second. Machines had one purpose, and that purpose was simply to be machines, and do nothing but that. Eight months had passed. Eight months since the accident. Her bedroom never changed since that day, other than the machines that constantly watched the room, like unwanted guests at a birthday party. Everything was exactly the same, her makeup bag, hair dryer, and hair brush sat in the exact same spot on her vanity. On the back of her door hung two sweaters, one black, and one blue. Everything was exactly the same, it was almost as if nothing had happened at all. Her posters of bands, and rock stars gazed over the room from the wall above her bed, making sure that nobody harmed her.
          To her family, it was an accident. They had washed her clothes that she had been wearing, and tried to pretend there wasn't a dark cloud looming over their heads, lurking behind every corner of their lives. For eight months, it had been cold even on the hottest days. Everyone knew deep down that it had not been an accident at all. Accidents must happen accidentally for them to be considered an accident. No... what had happened was completely done with purpose. Everyone knew this, but no one admitted it. The signs had been apparent before. The signs that there was a purpose, even before the purpose had even surfaced, yet everyone ignored it.
          Every evening he sat there beside her bed. That chair, after eight long months, became his. His bed, his lifeline, his social-life. His. He listened to the whir and hum combination of the stupid ceiling fan above her bed. The relentless drip of the IV keeping her -sort of- alive. He examined her sleeping eyes, and listened to the constant beep... beep... beep of the heart monitor machine that let him know that somewhere in there, she was still alive. He returned every evening, at the same time, and stayed all night. So that she would not be alone, to dream alone. Softly, he whispered her name, and wished he could have been there for her, before it got to this. Every night, he grasped her tiny, cold hand, and begged her to wake up. Sometimes, only for a moment, he swore he could see her smile, then he knew, somewhere in there, she was still half-alive.