Undo

If you could un-invent "un-event", undo something, what would it be? 
Discuss why, potential repercussions, or a possible alternative.


Then, out of the blue, came silence.

Her eyes, full of tears, were staring at the yellowish ceiling of the small room with a big window and wooden floor of a nasty brown colour. Hands were shaking, head was aching and heavy, she kept biting her lower lip, trying to calm down the anger burning inside her.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to keep people away from her true-gentle-self and play a role of a nasty cynical girl, who wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, except snakes.

But now she was scared.
Five peaceful years had passed, and today every single childish nightmare has come back to drown her in fear and helplessness again.

And she hated it.

It was easier to survive through all of those evenings and nights, when she was a five-year-old, cause a child has a perfect ability to forget and forgive easily as if summer rain has washed away all the blood and tears from her pillow.

She slightly touched the back of her head - the thin scar she's got, when she was 5, was still there to remind her of one of the worst nights of her childhood.

Now, being older and seeing things sharper, she knew, she would never forgive him again, if she got another bruise or scar or, even worse, another nightmare to live with through all of her life.

But she hated herself even more, because she was the one and only reason of it.

If it wasn't her, she, a person whom this redhead girl loved most of all, could leave him, come back to her parents and start a new life, which could be so much happier than living in a small rainy town away from her mother and father, locked in a room with him and a hostile daughter.
If it wasn't her, he could do whatever he want to, but not ruin her mother's life.

She knew, what she had to do.

A knife, heavy and sharp, was cold and somehow soothing in her hand.
She cut a lock of her red hair out, checking, how sharp was a knife, and, satisfied with result, looked at her left wrist. Her skin, dead-pale, revealed a nice net of blue veins. She closed her eyes and heard the beating of her own heart in that creepy silence of the room.

...she was standing at the balcony, a cold knife still in her hand, watching the rays of September sun piercing through the heavy grayish clouds and tangling with her long red hair, making them shine like burning fire.

She was almost 14, redhead and straight-out,
smart enough to understand that life is the one and precious and beautiful no matter how hard it can be sometimes. If she did this to herself, she would never undo this. And that feeling was the most scariest of all she's ever experienced.