Her Name Was October

She paused. The blade glinted ever so softly in the flickering light. She looked above her and to the left, where the bulb burned so dimly in the grungy room. The socket was loose, and the bulb hung from wires dangling out of the ceiling. It swayed slightly, left and right. The flickering continued. Her pain was so great that night. She felt the emotion swell inside her. It washed over her like a wave crashing onto the shore of a perfectly groomed beach. The moon was high in the horizon. She gazed out of the window, salty liquid threatened to escape her tear ducts, and cascade over her lash line.Her eyes were murky and deep as the dirtiest marsh with the thoughts that swirled inside her mind. She gripped the sharp metal with new vigor.

There was no remorse painted upon her visage, only the intensely horrifying mixture of determination and sadness. She forced herself to end it. It would bring about a new beginning, one where she wouldn't have to care about herself or others any longer. An ending and beginning all with the same small incision. She began to sweat. What if she couldn't do it? What if she was too weak to bring about the end of humanity as she knew it? She panicked, sobs erupting from her chest violently. Suddenly, she dropped the razor to the floor. She thrashed inside her head, the turmoil too much for her frail heart to bear. Her body wracked with low moans, she began to shake uncontrollably. Deep breaths, she told herself. She could do this. It was for the best. Nobody would care, nobody would even notice. Deep breaths. The resolve hardened in her eyes, molten stone thrown into a pit of ice water. Her arms stopped shaking. She picked up the glinting razor.

Slashing, she created a painting Rembrandt himself would have gloried over. The room seemed to swell, then swirl. Her vision blurred as she let out a sigh. As the paint bubbled over her wrists and into the plugged sink, she began to laugh maniacally. Strange, her voice sounded tin-like and far away. The dingy room began to turn shades of grey. Was she going color blind? No, that's impossible. She was being freed from the shackles that bound her! The shades of grey grew deeper, darker. Soon, everything was black. Oddly though, she felt uplifted. She was lighter, freer. She could still hear her own tinny laughter emitting from somewhere distant. But that didn't matter now. She was finally free.