Scarlet

I remember it, clear as day. I stood there, just staring. Letting the water run down my face, streaking the eyeliner down my near colorless cheekbones. A lone teardrop fell. I wiped it away, stiffened up. It's okay. This is acceptable. That thought reeling over and over. I took the razor in hand. I remember it was a bright blue. Odd thing to remember, I know. I only remember the odd things. I took it, and sliced it across my right wrist. Three thin, ever so thin cuts seeped the scarlet liquid. I watched with a satisfied smirk as the blood ran down my forearm, and finally dripping off of my elbow and making a splash on the cream colored shower floor. The amount of blood was exaggerated due to the water running through it, and it turned a red orange color; an ugly red orange color. I stared at what I had done and broke down crying. I sat there for maybe seconds, maybe hours, I don't know. But crying out those tears was what I needed. All of my problems were washed away with those hot, salty tears. I sat there, curled up, letting the steaming water hit my tear-streaked face. Again, I just stared. Stared at what the monster inside of me had let me do to myself. How? I wondered. How could I ever have done this?