Thoughts, Erased.
First and Last
She doesn’t know what to do after today. To most it would be considered fun, but no one knows the thoughts swimming around inside her head. A headache forms, burning into her mind. Anger and sadness boil at the pit of her stomach, rising up and making her face red. There’s no obvious reason for her pain and suffering, but she wants it gone. The thoughts, the headache, everything. She sits, cold and confused.
She feels the need for pain. She looks around her colorful room, finding no objects of interest. Her eyes land on a flat iron- not ideal, but it’ll do. She waits for it to get to maximum heat, searching more in her frantic pain. A pair of purple children’s scissors catch her eyes, and she eagerly picks it up. Scratching it against her left wrist, it is barely enough to numb. It’s impossible to break the skin. It’s not enough.
A beeping turns her attention towards the flat iron. She grins in satisfaction, walking towards it. She slowly picks it up, debating on whether to attempt it or not. Hesitantly, she presses it to her wrist, flinching at first but soon sighing in relief. It briefly relieves her of the drama weighing her down, and she pulls it away as it soon becomes unbearable. She presses it down again, this time in a different location. Different thoughts flood into her head, and then are washed away with the burning sensation. One by one, she erases the dramatic thoughts from her brain with the comforting heated plates. She slowly turns it off, not wanting to leave it’s comfort but also not wanting to overdo it. She counts the red lines on her forearm, eight in all. She sighs, still deep in thought. Maybe one day she’ll have the guts to finish what she started, but not tonight.
She feels the need for pain. She looks around her colorful room, finding no objects of interest. Her eyes land on a flat iron- not ideal, but it’ll do. She waits for it to get to maximum heat, searching more in her frantic pain. A pair of purple children’s scissors catch her eyes, and she eagerly picks it up. Scratching it against her left wrist, it is barely enough to numb. It’s impossible to break the skin. It’s not enough.
A beeping turns her attention towards the flat iron. She grins in satisfaction, walking towards it. She slowly picks it up, debating on whether to attempt it or not. Hesitantly, she presses it to her wrist, flinching at first but soon sighing in relief. It briefly relieves her of the drama weighing her down, and she pulls it away as it soon becomes unbearable. She presses it down again, this time in a different location. Different thoughts flood into her head, and then are washed away with the burning sensation. One by one, she erases the dramatic thoughts from her brain with the comforting heated plates. She slowly turns it off, not wanting to leave it’s comfort but also not wanting to overdo it. She counts the red lines on her forearm, eight in all. She sighs, still deep in thought. Maybe one day she’ll have the guts to finish what she started, but not tonight.
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:/ a sad but mostly true story about a friend. she asked me to write it for her, how i picture it happening. i honestly was hesitant about writing it. there will be no more chapters, so don't bother to sub. comment if you want.