Fire

Chapter One-Whispers

All class long I had been staring at nothing in particular, or so I thought.
When my mind refocused, my clear blue eyes were met with a girls narrow green ones. She had red hair, the kind that you just knew came from a bottle, no matter how much she tried to deny it. My staring hadn’t gone unnoticed like I had hoped it would, and the redhead turned to one of her friends and started whispering.

‘Shhhhhhhh’

What could they be saying? Do they hate me? Everyone else does.

I started tugging at the corners of my sleeves, my bad habit beginning to burn under the friction of my grey band sweatshirt. A knot grew I my stomach I’m pretty sure I knew what they were saying.

‘He’s the the kid with no parents.’
‘No, he’s the one that killed his parents’

The whispers reminded me of dried leaves, rustling in the wind during a rainstorm. The sound made want to cringe and I began to feel sick to my stomach. I want to run, but I didn’t want to call any more attention to myself so I decided to take an easier way out of the stuffy high school classroom. Without leaving I can’t stop the sounds and giggling escaping their chapped and painted lips.

I need to. I need to. I have to. I have to.

I reasoned, or more so, forced myself to get out of the chair and do what I needed to numb their words. I stood up abruptly, gaining me strange looks from the kids around me. Ms. Wallace looked up at me, concerned by the suddenness in which I jumped out of my chair. My pale face flushed because of all the attention, and my words stuttered out barley more than whispers. “I…um..b-bathroom?” The teacher gave me a little smile and a nod, “Go ahead Kellin.” I gave her a tight smile in return wanting to sprint out of the room, out of the school. But I knew I couldn’t do that. Not today at least.
I walked out of the room feeling eyes boring eyes into my back. My breathing quickened, and I struggled to keep a pace walking down the hall to the bathroom just around the corner. I opened the door, and there were already two guys playing around in front of the mirror. I ran into one of the stalls before they noticed I was there. What I was about to do was private. It was mine, my escape, I couldn’t risk anyone finding out or seeing. I balanced on the toilet cover, waiting until they left. After I heard their heavy footsteps leave the bathroom I reached into my back pocket, craving the small metal blade that I knew was waiting there.
I became frantic when I couldn’t fine it, my skin clamming up, my mind racing. Shit. I thought. Eventually my hand closed around the razor. A small smile spread itself across my pale lips. It felt like the only time I ever smiled anymore was when I was in the midst of self-destruction. I sat down on the floor, closing my eyes while I hissed at the pain of the blade on my skin.

People like to say there is beauty in a tragedy, but that is seldom true. There is only beauty in the way it is told. There was nothing beautiful about the tragedy I was in. There was nothing beautiful about the crimson liquid snaking its way from my veins and onto the bathroom floor. Nothing. Just like me. I was nothing. I didn’t cry anymore, but for some reason I broke. Tears brimmed my eyes begging to fall.

“You’re so weak. You’re such a fuck up.” I thought to myself using all my will power to hold the tears back. It was an attempt made in vein.

The pain was sweet, the kind of sweet that made a smile creep on your lips even if you didn’t want it to. The blade bit down deeper, having a mind of its own. I became dizzy, my eyesight getting fuzzy at the sides. Even so, I just closed my eyes once more, resting my head on the locked stall door.