Poetic Tragedy
In The Dark
FUCK UP Read her arm. She had just added those two words to the collection of scars she had on her arms. Pain and rage mixed. She didn’t know where exactly she was, she just remembered storming into the bathroom and locking herself inside to cry. Depression had been her company through the years. Depression and self-hatred.
She had never been good enough for anyone. Her family disapproved of her from an early age. Her father used to hit her and her mother until he left her mother for another woman. Her mother blamed her for it. That’s when she started hurting herself. She tried her hardest for her mother’s approval, to no avail. She started using drugs as a way to escape the nightmare that was her life. That was the story of Victoria Black.
She was standing in front of a mirror, in which she dreaded to look. Her knees gave in, and she fell to the floor. She was losing too much blood.
Avoiding her house as much as she could, she found people who, just like her, were hurt by life, and used drugs to ease the pain. The more time she spent with them, the more her addiction would grow, and the wounds she inflicted herself would increase. She knew it was wrong, but they were the only ones who took her in, for who she was, almost.
They didn’t know anything about her, except her name and that she used drugs too. They now called her Star.
She had very fair skin and big blue eyes, filled with sorrow. Her hair was jet-black, and shoulder length, with some bangs covering part of her face. She was average height and slightly thinner than normal. All the drugs had taken their toll on her, but still she was beautiful, even if she didn’t know this herself.
Lying on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, Victoria could see her bag sprawled on the floor. Her sketchbook had made its way to the floor. She loved drawing. It was the one thing she knew she was good at, but nobody had appreciated. Her last argument with her mother was because of her sketchbook. Her mother wanted her to study something that would “bring money to our home”, and stop just wasting her life away with stupid drawings and dreams. Victoria tried to show her mother that she was good at it, that she might have a chance, but she wouldn’t listen. Then she couldn’t take it anymore, and went to her room, filled a bag with some of her stuff and ran away. She had ended up at one of her “friends’” house for a few days. And then she was here, fearing death, in the bathroom of a random bar, losing blood from her self-inflicted wounds.
Finally, she lost consciousness.
She had never been good enough for anyone. Her family disapproved of her from an early age. Her father used to hit her and her mother until he left her mother for another woman. Her mother blamed her for it. That’s when she started hurting herself. She tried her hardest for her mother’s approval, to no avail. She started using drugs as a way to escape the nightmare that was her life. That was the story of Victoria Black.
She was standing in front of a mirror, in which she dreaded to look. Her knees gave in, and she fell to the floor. She was losing too much blood.
Avoiding her house as much as she could, she found people who, just like her, were hurt by life, and used drugs to ease the pain. The more time she spent with them, the more her addiction would grow, and the wounds she inflicted herself would increase. She knew it was wrong, but they were the only ones who took her in, for who she was, almost.
They didn’t know anything about her, except her name and that she used drugs too. They now called her Star.
She had very fair skin and big blue eyes, filled with sorrow. Her hair was jet-black, and shoulder length, with some bangs covering part of her face. She was average height and slightly thinner than normal. All the drugs had taken their toll on her, but still she was beautiful, even if she didn’t know this herself.
Lying on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, Victoria could see her bag sprawled on the floor. Her sketchbook had made its way to the floor. She loved drawing. It was the one thing she knew she was good at, but nobody had appreciated. Her last argument with her mother was because of her sketchbook. Her mother wanted her to study something that would “bring money to our home”, and stop just wasting her life away with stupid drawings and dreams. Victoria tried to show her mother that she was good at it, that she might have a chance, but she wouldn’t listen. Then she couldn’t take it anymore, and went to her room, filled a bag with some of her stuff and ran away. She had ended up at one of her “friends’” house for a few days. And then she was here, fearing death, in the bathroom of a random bar, losing blood from her self-inflicted wounds.
Finally, she lost consciousness.