Burn Baby Burn

No one understood her. Ever. She barely spoke to anyone before the 'accident.' It was no accident. She did it on purpose. She couldn't stand her reflection. Not that she thought she wasn't beautiful; she knew she was. She did it because she couldn't stand to look into the face of someone who'd been through so much; a face that had so many memories behind it. She had to burn it. Melt it away.

She also needed the pain. She needed to hurt. To know she was real. She couldn't bring herself to ever cut, but she could pour a bottle of gasoline over her head and light a match. That was easy. Oh, did it hurt. No one knows pain until they are lit on fire. She wondered if hell felt like that as she engulfed herself in flames. If it did, she could say she'd been to hell and back.

Her mom was the one who fond her in the garage, still burning and screaming. Doctors say she was lucky. The fire hadn't burned her lungs badly. She thinks it was bad luck; she'd hoped she'd die. She'd prayed - not that she believed in 'god,' because she sure as hell didn't- that she would die.

When she came to, she screamed and cried. The nurses thought it was because she was in pain and gave her sedatives and morphine. She didn't scream and cry because of the pain. She screamed and cried because she was still alive.