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The early morning sun shines through the windows with an intensity that burns. The light dances upon her eyelids and awakes the sleeping girl. She sits up and looks around her, as if she isn't sure where she is. The sun is burning her, turning her skin red and forming blisters. She stays where she is, submerging herself in the sea of pain. Too soon the earth rotates upon its axis and the sun bids farewell to her body.
She arises and walks with grace into the bathroom. The mirror stares at her. Staring. Staring. Always watching her every move. She looks in and realizes she can't look out. Like a cage. She was kept there. Staring into the mirror. Seeing herself. She will escape. Run, Run RUN. NO. NO. She must stay strong. Look at yourself. What do you see? I see a human shaped being, lost and dejected, alone in a frightening world of darkness. What else? I can't see anything else. That's all there is to me. She sighs and lets her body crumple into a huddled mass on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Her mother is talking to her again. She never quite figured out why her mother still tried to communicate. Anything She said to her mother was a mumbled reply. What was her mother saying now? Lecturing her on her clothing. Her grades. Her lack of friends, hell, her nonexistent social life. Wait. Mother stopped talking. Mother is smiling at Sister now. Perfect beautiful wonderful Sister. She hates that one, that Sister. Hates her. Hate. Hate turns to fear. Or does fear become hate? Fear. She walks. Moving her legs. Forward, onward. The brittle leaves on the sidewalk crackle and are grinded into dust under her weight. Like bones. The sun is still shining but not like That. It was cooler now. As if that moment this morning was a dream. Her feet were still moving. Onward. Forward. And there before her lay her destination. The High school. She is so afraid of that school. So afraid. Hate? The halls are crowded with the mindless masses. Grouping together so no one would ever realize how weak they all were. But not Her. She is strong. Or so She thinks. Courage lay dormant in her heart, or does she have any courage at all? What a world. She goes to class each day. To learn. But the concept of education slips past her and she falls into the spiral that goes neither downward nor upward, nor anywhere in particular. It just keeps her going. She has no friends to confide her fears in ( hate? ) She has no boyfriends, no secret crushes. No one would want her even if she liked them. She is the failure. The fool. The hopeless cause. Her losses, her mistakes, her failures seem to crush her at times. The weight of being an idiot is heavy upon her shoulders, yet she does not cry out. She is strong. Solitude would have killed anyone else, but not Her, She is strong. Is She? Those other girls always look at her funny. As if she is a mutant. She is the normal one, they are the freaks. But still, Her face burned shame when each day she sat alone in the cafeteria. Alone. There She sits, with her bagel and blank paper. Scribbling, writing, trying to keep her body centered on the paper so she won't float away like she wants to. That would be weak. She is Strong. Alone. So alone! The solitude would have driven anyone else to madness. But she is strong. Or is she already crazy? Crazy dark chaotic mass in a human form. The day at school is almost over. She has lived through another day in the hell mouth. All those eyes staring at her. The loner. The loser. The freak. That Girl who always looks as if the world is upon her shoulders. She is almost done for today. But it has been a hard day. The days are all hard. They all hurt. Hurt so bad she could taste the pain forever. It wasn't the delicious kind. It was the kind that made her want to go home and open her flesh so the pain could flow out. Escape from her body. Drip onto the carpet and boil there. Deep, dark, and hiding in its depths secrets of an unknown world. It is her only friend. The only demon and the only friend she will ever know. There it lurks in the drawer. A friendly coldness radiates from the razor. The metal shines in the moonlight. It is beautiful. So beautiful. She sits there. Her hair cascades down her naked back. The moonlight shivers upon her pale flesh. The flesh of a monster. She is a monster. NO. NO NO NO NO NO!!!!! The fear in her blood is the monster. The pain in her blood is the monster. The endlessness in her soul is her friend. Rid Herself of the monster first, and then concentrate on her soul. Priorities. The moonlight illuminates the rest of her naked body. To some it is an art form. To others a monstrosity. To Her it is simply what kept her insides from flying away. From escaping. It holds Her together. What She is, Her spirit, Her very being can not escape with this body encasing her. She could not escape. So there lay the razor. The dagger. The blade that held the power to cleanse Her. She picks it up lovingly, as if it would shatter. She brings it up to her temples and lets the cool metal slide across Her skin. To calm her mind. She puts the blade to her lips, kissing it. Her only love sprung from a demon that she is unaware of. She lets the blade slide over her breast, thinking of the heart that lays underneath, pounding furiously. The razor makes its way to her stomach, gently grazing the skin. Down her legs goes the blade, just gently gliding over the surface of her skin. Then up her arms the dagger travels. To her shoulder blades, and then in a half moon around her neck. Now it is time to let the monster go. She brings the razor to her arm. Closing her eyes she prays. for what? Strength? Courage? But she is strong. Her knuckles grip the handle with such intensity that they hurt. Quickly, pressing down she drags the blade across her fore arm. Her skin rips, tears open. The sound of the skin splitting open is terrifying. So little blood flows out. She does it again. Over and over again she cuts. Slashes. Tearing her arms to ribbons. Let the monster out. Let it out. She hates this. It hurts so badly. But she has to. She has to get away from the monster or it will overtake her. The blood flows, the monster begins to seep out. Seeping. Escaping. She sees it and is comforted. More must go. More. So She slashes at the rest of her body.. The razor now dances a crazy pattern all over her nude body, exposing what lays underneath the skin. Exposed. Her only fear is that her being would escape. That Her encasing could no longer protect her. Feared, hated. Courage or Madness? When she awakes, dizzy and drunk from loss of blood she smiles. There are the stars and the monster is gone. She is pure. She kisses the blade again and puts it back in the drawer. She feels some sort of strange ecstasy. The ruby gashes on her arm stand out. She traces the path of the razor all over her body. She has not realized how much she has cut. Each cut is red and swollen, with dark red blood dried upon her fair skin. Like pink mountains or hillsides, covered with crimson snow. Burning. On fire. The pain is coming back now. Intense. It is delicious. It is hell. She screams. Surely so much pain cannot come from these mere scratches! God it hurts so badly! To be free of her body! She begins to cry. Sob as if her heart had broken right inside her chest. As if the razor had been able to reach there, and had cut it open too. The cries shake her poor frail body and the sadness engulfs her. On and on the tears flow, as if there is no end. As if the endlessness she feels in her soul was escaping through her tears. Escape. She stands up, and turns on a lamp. The carpet is soaked with the scarlette liquid from her veins. They were only mere scratches! Or were they more? They were more like massive gashes, tears, cuts, rips in the skin. Oh beauty, beauty. Don't leave so soon, stay a while. She falls down again. She wonders what she has become. Who is She? Why is She? These worries clog her minds, this sadness erodes her heart, and the fear wreaks havoc upon her nerves. But she can cope, she has the razors, she has the power. Oh God. Take me away. The inky black sky appears like a shadow of gossamer, with silver star like diamonds. Her eyes are dancing from the pain she is going through, both physically and emotionally. Release! Sweet dear razor, please come nearer to me. Why are your arms bleeding love? Because I have loved. She is overcome with a sadness so profound she shakes. She knows that her soul contains nothing. Empty, blank canvas that has not yet been painted upon. So there She is. Alone. And without any answers for why she is so alone. The nightmare is consuming her quickly. Suffocating her in the folds of silent terror. She is so afraid. She fears her soul. She hates this ugly, empty thing. She fears herself. She is so weak. So weak. The tears come again, those animal like cries of pain. In her eyes you can see the torment. The spiral she is in keeps moving. She is a weary traveler upon this road. The moon looks down upon her and sees a shattered creature. Alone. Weeping now, the sobs slowing down. Always crying. Empty of all feelings but sorrow. She claws at her skin. Trying to escape. To runaway. She looks for comfort in an unnamed God. She is left alone once more, with only a bloody razor for company. And so the nightmare goes on. |
