Back to Happier Times...
Her Own Form Of Revenge
Eyeliner streamed down her face like black tears on her pale skin. Each drop represented her pain, sorrow and loss of life. The blade glimmered in her palm, dry blood hung on from the last time. Holding it up to the light, she sighed, lowering it to her wrist, pushing it up into the skin. Thick warm blood oozed out, staining the metal, slowly dripping to the sink. One long cut was enough, she did not need anymore.
The bathroom mirror steamed up as the frosty glass was hit by the warm air, leaking through from under the door; she slid down, resting her back on the bath. Sighing, she watched the blood stain the cream mat, was this what her life had come to?
Life could not drain from her quick enough. Even with the taps on full, she could still hear plates being smashed and curses thrown. The Prozac her doctor had supplied lay barely touched in the cabinet, it could not help her, nothing and no one could save her from the misery-except death.
A cruel wind threw in droplets of rain against the back of her dozing head. She did not feel it or the icy wind; she was too close to the black dismay of dying. Her eyes rolled back, closing as her head tilted to rest over the bath. With each breath her nostrils flared like it was a challenge in itself.
The usual rosy face which stuck out from her dark hair grew paler by the second as life bled out from her. A letter lay untouched on the far side of the door, slid under as a last message, a last request, a last goodbye, a last everything.
Looking through the dark glass on the window, she made out the moon and its face. Smiling back at her, mocking her. She envied the moon, always with a cheery grin. Even in knowing it wasn't real she still hated it, why couldn't she smile like that and mean it?
Blurred visions of the world were in-deciphered; every blink turned the room into unfamiliar territory. She took a deep breath, her mind becoming a blank canvas, her thoughts erased like a pencil rubbing out an error. Trying to think was hard, the odd thoughts, the odd memories came back, but they dug into her heart like a blunt knife, slowly being pushed in.
Chimes from the grandfather clock downstairs, rattled her, waking her from the subconscious state she had drifted into. The shallow edges of her bleeding gash began to scab over, not quick enough to cover the whole cut, not quick enough to save her. She bit her lip, screwing up her eyes. Coldness shot down her spine as her neck hit the bath rim. Floorboards creaked beneath her, shuffling her weight for side to side.
Her life had crashed down around here, even before she had found the blade. Bleeding made it better, took away the pain, even if it was only for a couple of minutes, it was worth it. A heavy drowsiness drifted over her, wanting her to close her eyes and never let them open again but she knew it was not time.
The left side of her fragile body lost all of life's sensations. The red liquid oozing out of her arm dripped slower, but still it steadily hit the ground, splashing in its own puddle. Her right hand uncurled, dropping the silver blade to the ground, it wasn't meant to take this long or be so painful but it was worth it in the end.
Her happiness had turned to dust, blown away like the tiny fragments they were. The usual green shade that flashed from her eyes had turned into a mouldy colour, almost a dull black crossed with a brown. Usually red, her lips were a baby pink; just light enough to stand out from the face. Her face looked as it had been painted, almost unreal, unloved. She was a china doll, but not as precious, people cared for dolls, no one cared for her.
Water dripped from every surface in the frost room, leaving open the window was not her best idea. Cold breezes ran through her veins among blood which was soon to be lost. Clouds of breath still blew out from her frail body, distilling into the icy room. With each one life left her body, life she could never claim back.
Her breathing grew heavier, the pain becoming a numb sensation in her mind. She felt like crying but could not bring herself to letting the tears roll a final time. Although there was no clock in the room, she could hear her life ticking away. Anyone else would be scared of what was coming, but death was a gamble for happiness she was willing to take. Memories of love, happiness and joy, were blocked out. Laying limply, her arm squeezed out the last few drops of blood.
No one cared for this dying girl. Left alone till her fight for life was lost; she gave in, leaving
behind her misery.
It was her own form of revenge...
The bathroom mirror steamed up as the frosty glass was hit by the warm air, leaking through from under the door; she slid down, resting her back on the bath. Sighing, she watched the blood stain the cream mat, was this what her life had come to?
Life could not drain from her quick enough. Even with the taps on full, she could still hear plates being smashed and curses thrown. The Prozac her doctor had supplied lay barely touched in the cabinet, it could not help her, nothing and no one could save her from the misery-except death.
A cruel wind threw in droplets of rain against the back of her dozing head. She did not feel it or the icy wind; she was too close to the black dismay of dying. Her eyes rolled back, closing as her head tilted to rest over the bath. With each breath her nostrils flared like it was a challenge in itself.
The usual rosy face which stuck out from her dark hair grew paler by the second as life bled out from her. A letter lay untouched on the far side of the door, slid under as a last message, a last request, a last goodbye, a last everything.
Looking through the dark glass on the window, she made out the moon and its face. Smiling back at her, mocking her. She envied the moon, always with a cheery grin. Even in knowing it wasn't real she still hated it, why couldn't she smile like that and mean it?
Blurred visions of the world were in-deciphered; every blink turned the room into unfamiliar territory. She took a deep breath, her mind becoming a blank canvas, her thoughts erased like a pencil rubbing out an error. Trying to think was hard, the odd thoughts, the odd memories came back, but they dug into her heart like a blunt knife, slowly being pushed in.
Chimes from the grandfather clock downstairs, rattled her, waking her from the subconscious state she had drifted into. The shallow edges of her bleeding gash began to scab over, not quick enough to cover the whole cut, not quick enough to save her. She bit her lip, screwing up her eyes. Coldness shot down her spine as her neck hit the bath rim. Floorboards creaked beneath her, shuffling her weight for side to side.
Her life had crashed down around here, even before she had found the blade. Bleeding made it better, took away the pain, even if it was only for a couple of minutes, it was worth it. A heavy drowsiness drifted over her, wanting her to close her eyes and never let them open again but she knew it was not time.
The left side of her fragile body lost all of life's sensations. The red liquid oozing out of her arm dripped slower, but still it steadily hit the ground, splashing in its own puddle. Her right hand uncurled, dropping the silver blade to the ground, it wasn't meant to take this long or be so painful but it was worth it in the end.
Her happiness had turned to dust, blown away like the tiny fragments they were. The usual green shade that flashed from her eyes had turned into a mouldy colour, almost a dull black crossed with a brown. Usually red, her lips were a baby pink; just light enough to stand out from the face. Her face looked as it had been painted, almost unreal, unloved. She was a china doll, but not as precious, people cared for dolls, no one cared for her.
Water dripped from every surface in the frost room, leaving open the window was not her best idea. Cold breezes ran through her veins among blood which was soon to be lost. Clouds of breath still blew out from her frail body, distilling into the icy room. With each one life left her body, life she could never claim back.
Her breathing grew heavier, the pain becoming a numb sensation in her mind. She felt like crying but could not bring herself to letting the tears roll a final time. Although there was no clock in the room, she could hear her life ticking away. Anyone else would be scared of what was coming, but death was a gamble for happiness she was willing to take. Memories of love, happiness and joy, were blocked out. Laying limply, her arm squeezed out the last few drops of blood.
No one cared for this dying girl. Left alone till her fight for life was lost; she gave in, leaving
behind her misery.
It was her own form of revenge...