The End of Her Story

It was finally that time. She had decided it. There was no point in continuing on in this game. It was all over, her player did not have the strength to win this game. She decided a forfeit was the only way to win this game of tic-tac-toe. The only way to win is not to play, right?
She nods to herself. This is the only way, right? Right. After being told she was no longer worth the fight by those who did not matter, and soon by the only one who mattered more to her than her own life, it was the final battle she would fight.
Dressed in her finest clothes she could find, she entered. She closed the door behind herself, and there was no light save for the few rays that crawled in from the bottoms and tops of the two doors that slid back and forth to open and close her closet.
She could just barely see it. The rope, perfectly tied and knotted. It seemed to smile pleasantly at her and speak hello as she walked up to it. Its size was so perfect for her young and raw neck. She had left her final note, her final words, in an envelope, sitting at a rest on her desk until a fellow would soon find it and then her corpse.
Her father wasn't here, her brother didn't care, so she figured her mother would find her. Tears began to roll down her healthy cheeks as she reached forward, lightly running the tip of her finger around the noose. She sniffed and held back a sob, harboring the bump in her throat. She stepped up onto the stool, turning and looking at the Circle of Death. She slowly brought it over her head and tightened it at her neck, letting her hands dangle lifelessly by her sides. Every promise she had made, and every promise she had been given, was now broken and pointless. Every relationship, every conversation, was over and gone. Maybe the next person that rolls her die in the Game of Life will be strong enough to win the game. Take her abilities, thoughts, prides and emotions, and wish them luck.
She kicked the stool away from underneath her, and now it was the noose's turn to hold and caress her. She swung back and forth a few times before sitting in utter silence and stillness. Let the new protagonist take their play, her role in the story has been fulfilled.
Her once perfectly healthy and fine body grew pale and weak, losing its nice color, warmth and circulation. Not even a goodbye was worth it. There will always be that one character, that one person in a story, who was never worth it. She was that character. And her story was over.