One for the Razorbacks
Part 1: Introduction, and a little about Razor.
Chapter 1:
My name is Cecilia.
Call me Razor.
I’m 16.
And I live… under the highway.
It was cold and rainy that night, because of all of the rain. I had just gotten back from stealing some type of CD player from the Costco downtown, for the CD that I found by the music store.
I huddled against the dry and cold cement wall, tucking my knees underneath the hem of my sweatshirt. I hated nights like these, when you can’t do anything because the puddles are as deep as your knees and the rain is colder than Alaska.
I wrapped myself up in my second sweatshirt and reached down to my shoe. I fussed around with my shoelace, and then pulled out a small cloth that was hidden in the sole of my shoe. I sighed. Ahh, reunited with an old friend. I unwrapped the cloth and let the corners slag down to the sides of my hand, exposing a shiny rectangular blade in my palm. I picked it up and held it between a few of my fingers, and then slid it across my left wrist, making yet another cut to add to my collection.
My name is not Cecilia. It hasn’t been for nearly a year. I changed it, or rather, it was changed for me, to Razor (I’m sure you can see why). The last time I’ve heard myself called the ‘C’ name was when all of my ignorant family members came to ‘send their condolences’ after my mother finally drank herself to death. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, (in that I-Love-You-Only-When-You-Don’t-Beat-Me sort of way.).
After I had wrapped up the blade and put it back in the sole of my shoe, I picked up the CD player and turned it on, watching the hand holding a heart grenade on the label of the disk spin around faster than my eyes could follow.
I slipped the headphones on just in time for the first song called something like ‘American Idiot’ to start playing.
I stared into the dark while listening to the whole CD, nearly crying after hearing some I could relate to completely.
My name is Cecilia.
Call me Razor.
I’m 16.
And I live… under the highway.
It was cold and rainy that night, because of all of the rain. I had just gotten back from stealing some type of CD player from the Costco downtown, for the CD that I found by the music store.
I huddled against the dry and cold cement wall, tucking my knees underneath the hem of my sweatshirt. I hated nights like these, when you can’t do anything because the puddles are as deep as your knees and the rain is colder than Alaska.
I wrapped myself up in my second sweatshirt and reached down to my shoe. I fussed around with my shoelace, and then pulled out a small cloth that was hidden in the sole of my shoe. I sighed. Ahh, reunited with an old friend. I unwrapped the cloth and let the corners slag down to the sides of my hand, exposing a shiny rectangular blade in my palm. I picked it up and held it between a few of my fingers, and then slid it across my left wrist, making yet another cut to add to my collection.
My name is not Cecilia. It hasn’t been for nearly a year. I changed it, or rather, it was changed for me, to Razor (I’m sure you can see why). The last time I’ve heard myself called the ‘C’ name was when all of my ignorant family members came to ‘send their condolences’ after my mother finally drank herself to death. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother, (in that I-Love-You-Only-When-You-Don’t-Beat-Me sort of way.).
After I had wrapped up the blade and put it back in the sole of my shoe, I picked up the CD player and turned it on, watching the hand holding a heart grenade on the label of the disk spin around faster than my eyes could follow.
I slipped the headphones on just in time for the first song called something like ‘American Idiot’ to start playing.
I stared into the dark while listening to the whole CD, nearly crying after hearing some I could relate to completely.