Too Late: Day 4

Word Count: 24,012

Summary of Events:

Waiting for his teammates to pick him up for a dinner out, Callan noticed a sad young woman sitting on the former football pitch, but was unable to talk to her before his teammates arrived. Amarina, feeling particularly low owing to her tormentor's increased torment and the lack of outside support, harmed herself in search of relief. The following morning Callan saw what he thought was a piece of rubbish blowing about outside, only to discover it was a handwritten set of dark lyrics to a common children's song; he couldn't get them out of his head and his sleep even suffered, as he feared they were the clue to a murder, but then he wondered if they weren't the clue to a murder, but a commentary about self-harm . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Unfolding the paper, he read over the pencilled words again. It made more sense that the little ant was watching her own blood run than the blood of some brutally murdered person.

But who was the little ant? Was she that sad-looking young woman? Was she someone else who’d sat there later? Why was she suffering? Could he really offer any help?

He took up his mobile and took a picture of the lyrics. He then trimmed the photo’s height so that it was showing just the lyrics, nothing else.

Reading over the digital rendering of the lyrics, he left the photo app and went to his preferred social media platform, which was the only one on which he maintained two accounts: the official, verified, superstar footballer who had it all together account, and the unofficial, unverified, struggling, weak, imperfect football fan who struggled to have a positive outlook on life account.

On one he was known as Callan Reid, on the other as Mitchell Abernethey, and if he was honest, he preferred being Mitchell Abernethey more than Callan Reid a lot of times when it came to social media; on the football pitch he was fine with being Callan Reid, but everywhere else he would’ve preferred to be Mitchell Abernethey.

When, on social media, he was Mitchell Abernethey, he was himself. He was the real Callan Reid — albeit under the guise of his middle names, which the public thankfully didn’t know — the one who had self-harmed in the past, who struggled to have anything sorted at all, forget all of it sorted at any time.

He was the person who took prescription antidepressants and struggled with feelings of loneliness despite the friendly and sympathetic teammates and staff he had about him, the one who well knew that money didn’t buy happiness because he had a good deal of the former, but had yet to encounter a lasting quantity of the latter.

Most importantly, as Mitchell Abernethey, he followed several different groups that offered mental health support and advocacy, seeking to help those with mental health struggles, and also seeking to raise awareness to the need for increased mental health support.

Selecting to compose a post, he attached the photo immediately and tagged as many of the groups as he could in it.

He then selected the part where he could add text and watched the cursor blink several times before he decided on what he was going to say.

Went on a walk through #Highbury yesterday and found these. Who are you Little Ant? What kind of help do you need? I’m here to listen, just give me the word. I want to help, however I can.

After rereading the post he decided to edit it.

Went on a walk through #Highbury yesterday and found your paper, little ant. Let me know if you need any help. I would be willing to listen, and if there’s anything more I can do I would gladly do that too.