Date	Name/email Nom/email	What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13? Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
23 Mar 2025	K.	Frank's message made me want to express my gratitude too. I first discovered this site when I was 12 years old and although I don't visit it often, I do return to it from time to time. I will be 18 this August. This website has always stayed in my heart. As someone who has shared her experiences, I have always found comfort in the character Mouchette. Last year, I escaped my abusers and began treatment to try to live a normal life. It's still difficult and I'm still figuring things out, but I am feeling better than ever. *Bisou*!
23 Mar 2025	пяточка	*смайлик удиивленого ебала*
16 Feb 2025	frank	i've frequented this site since i was 10 years old. i turn 18 in september. mouchette is my favorite book, and without this site i wouldn't even know it existed. i have a little paperback copy, translated to english, 2nd hand and beat up from carrying it around everywhere i go. i've lost count of how many times i've read it. here are my favorite mouchette quotes: "one is seized by suicide as one is seized by love." "mouchette is both redeemed and destroyed by the emergence of love into her soul. her suicide is her way of ending her own story before it is finished in the long human exhausting way. she ends it where it has found its meaning." "she could only defend herself by immobility and silence." "mouchette thought of death as something as strange and unlikely as winning a big prize in the lottery. at her age, dying and becoming a lady were equally fantastic adventures." thank you mouchette dot org for giving me my favorite book ⁠♡
06 Feb 2025	vinodelectable	Oh Mouchette, thou who dwelleth in deep sorrow, I, like a fly, dost buzz 'round empty air, A wretched creature, low with no tomorrow, Doomed to a fate that none would ever bear. What is a fly, but brief and ill begotten, With wings so frail, they flutter ‘gainst the breeze, Yet find no solace, no true peace forgotten, But dance alone 'twixt shadows and the trees. In despair’s grasp, I too, do flutter wide, A worthless soul, unfit for light or love. Alas! My hope lies buried deep inside, Yet no sweet hand will lift me from above. Oh Mouchette, I, like thee, am tossed, betrayed, A hollow thing whose spirit fades away. No song of joy, nor care to see me swayed, Like thee, I buzz and fade into the grey. Thine eyes are weary, and mine own heart beats slow, For what is life but this dark, endless woe?
06 Feb 2025	vinodelectable	there is no love for the weak, for someone like me. there is no love for the coward, for someone like me. there is no love for a freak, for someone like me. there is no love for a narcissist, for someone like me. there is no love for a masochist, for someone like me. there is no love for the dead fly, for someone like me. I am a fly A bother and useless I am a fly Another, just worthless I am a fly Mouchette, help me evolve
06 Feb 2025	vinodelectable	You're a fly! BAM. Shell smashed, juices flowing Legs twitch, wings are going. All alone. Don't feel bad for the fly, don't get sentimental It always ends up in drivel. That stupid fly had no friends or family anyways. Stupid fly, You saw the hand You saw the knife But you had no energy to fight back Scared and scarred forever One day he will be reborn And he will chemically grow wings (Yes, I know I referenced Radiohead. They're one of my favorite bands. But, everything I say has meaning. And, if I reference a song - it must have some meaning... Maybe you'll figure it out.)
06 Feb 2025	vinodelectable	oh, dear father you don't even know me would you be disappointed if you saw me now? oh, dear father, if only you could show me how to live, oh if only how you never met me, and you never will now oh, dear father! we will never, EVER be the same - for the only thing we share is a last name oh, dear father I shalt have thy soul
27 Jan 2025	Azrea	A song hums softly for a dead fly, Wings bent, body still— A melody of tenderness, Too kind for something so small. I sit and listen, Wrapped in its gentle refrain. It feels like love, Like a warmth I’ve never earned. But then I wonder— If I love a song for the dead, Am I just like the fly? Lifeless, fragile, Only worthy of care in my silence? The thought gnaws at me, Yet I can’t turn away. Because even if I am, Even if I’m nothing, At least the song still plays.
26 Jan 2025	vinodelectable	there are eyes in the walls that look at me and hands in the floors that reach up and try to pull me down with them there are black dogs that follow me and bark when i move but i cant hear them, i feel the barks and when i tell people they say there are no such dogs that bark feelings especially not black ones and so i reach out to touch the dogs and suddenly there is smoke and i cant breathe but i can i just think i cant and then i think is anything even real? it doesnt feel like it i feel like im living in a world thats not my own, one i didnt want to be brought into i see things no one else sees and they call me insane, but insane i am not. i am completely sane, they just dont see what i see they never played with death like i did and they never faced the world like my mother did and they never felt the hands that push them down down down into the pillow, the hands that force themselves inside them the same hands that try to carry me to hell the same hands i look at when i wake up the same hands that keep my soul clean, but theyre not mine idk whos they are the same eyes that watch, the same feeling over and over until i cant feel ever again its better to end it before it starts
26 Jan 2025	Azrea	I have been sitting in this hollow room, my thoughts are loud enough to echo off the dull walls that I wish to tear down. I was thinking. Do we say "God has forsaken me" Because we truly believe he has left, or do we say it because we hope he will hear our cries and answer that we are not alone? When I say "God has forsaken me", do I even know what I am saying, Mouchette? Why does it seem as though words tumble out of my mouth mindlessly, as though I am a ghost with nothing left but it's voice. Wouldn't it be better to be a ghost with just it's voice, than to be a human with a voice that can be heard? The ghost can scream about it's pain and not be shunned, not be noticed, but a human can scream about it's pain and be stuck in a white room, instead of being treated with the love it deserves. Tell me, Mouchette, do you wish to be the ghost or the human? Any sane person will tell you the right answer is the human, but a person who understands, who has felt and cried and been hurt, will tell you it is better to be the ghost.
24 Jan 2025	Azrea	What is it like, Mouchette, To fade into the dark, To curl up And never feel again? I wish for it, That emptiness, That silence where no one calls my name, Where no one sees me Or remembers I was ever here. I want to slip into the void, Where the weight of the world No longer presses against my chest, Where the hands that burn Don’t reach for me anymore, Where nothing matters But the hum of nothingness. Mouchette, do you hear it too? The quiet, the emptiness That swallows everything whole, Where all the pain drifts away Like dust in the wind? Can you feel it calling, Telling you to let go And never come back? Would anyone notice If I just disappeared? Would it be better, If my body was just a carcass in a casket? Nameless, Unwanted, Unseen. I close my eyes, And for a moment, I am nothing, Just a shadow slipping into the dark Where there is no more fight, No more struggle, Just the sweet relief Of forgetting who I am. Who am I? Mouchette, Could this be the end? Could this be death, To drown in the void And never reach the surface again? Is this possible the most peaceful way to go? Tell me, Mouchette, where do you go when you desire to drown?
24 Jan 2025	Azrea	Mother’s hands are where they shouldn't be. A blur of sour breath and slurred lullabies. She tells me it’s love, But I don’t know this kind. I didn’t ask for her touch, Didn’t beg to carry her burden, Didn’t pray to be swallowed whole By the shadow she becomes When the bottle runs dry. Mouchette, do you think her hands remember What they do when the world tips sideways? Do they remember me, Or am I just the result of too much to drink, a place for her hands to find ground when shes too drunk to think. She says she loves me. But is love supposed to weigh so much? Like the smell of broken promises And the heat of shame pressed into my skin? Tell me, Mouchette, If a mother’s "love" can kill her child, Do we still call it love? If I disappear between her drunken whispers, Will I be remembered for what I was, Or only for what she made of me? Mouchette, what happens When the hands that should hold Turn into chains that bind? Is it selfish to want freedom If it means someone has to die? I ask the silence, but it gives no answers. Only the echo of my pleading, Ringing hollow in a room that feels too small.
24 Jan 2025	Azrea	I cannot fathom the weight of your hands, clutching my grief like a blade to the throat. You wove my death into your melody, a hymn to spite sung with borrowed breath. Shall I name this silence or cradle it, since I am the carcass you carved it from? You are terrible, useless, a specter feasting on the ashes of my undoing. I hate you— but only because my ghosts demand it.
13 Jan 2025	Johnny Melton	I watched my pseudonym's namesake cry today. Where will he go? Where will I go?
09 Jan 2025	Coccinelle	You keep postponing it until you’re 14, 15, 16, until you live away from home so you don’t hurt your parents and little sister as much, and suddenly you’re 25 and you finally look both ways before crossing the street again
04 Jan 2025	a fly, buzzing gram	there is always someone, probably, in my blind spot who reaches out to me. i take their arms and hide my figure in theirs. use their hair to tie a noose, their arms to suffocate. their pitiful eyes wash over me. my fingers knead at their skin. thousands, hundreds, millions of pores covering that rubber surface. focus on one for too long and they'll steal you. steal you into a place where the only thing you want to do is give birth just the eat the infant
04 Jan 2025	vinodelectable	What do we do when we forget who we are, Mouchette? What do we earn when we kill ourselves, Mouchette? Some say it is just an easy way out, Some say I am selfish, But would not it all be good and right if I was gone? Mouchette, would my family be happy? Would my friends suffer? Would God really watch over them? I feel as if he is not watching me any longer, that he has lost all hope in me Tell me, Mouchette, if God loves his children, is that why he kills them?
29 Dec 2024	charlotte	i have frequently visited this website since i was 11. now i'm 15 and i do not feel that different, just maybe happier? Still, i wonder if i was meant to die back then. i just did not want others to be in pain. this website is one of the reasons i made my own. and if you don't mind me plugging it here, it's at the address denpanightmare.neocities.org maybe we'll meet again. :D
02 Dec 2024	lebanull03	You only truly die when you're completely forgotten. One day you will rot and decay until there's nothing left, but as long as your name is still uttered by others' lips, you're alive. The internet has made everyone immortal. Death is, well, dead. Long live Mouchette.
13 Nov 2024	my name is still kira	Mouchette, a few days ago I received the most curious email. Someone, that I did not know, asked me how I was doing, with this website as the subject! I know I used to be here, my email was here, I replied to this form, a long time ago, but I cannot find my answer. I do not remember what I said, or anything about myself back then, so it seems the disappearance has killed who I was that day. This ties into what I think may be the best way to kill yourself, at any age (including under 13!) - simply forget who you were yesterday, leave no trace or proof of who you were, and you'll die everyday. Hope this helps, and I hope me of today doesn't die too soon in your hands, for I will forget, whether I like it or not, very soon.

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