I leaned over the sink as blood poured from my scarred wrists. The sting was terrible but the pleasure was more. Cutting, for me, felt much better than what I had to deal with every day. I watched the sink turn red, then pink from the running water. I was supposed to be eating lunch, but I never did, I came into the bathroom everyday with my little pocket knife. What could I say? I was a hardcore self-mutilator and no one knew. I’d use anything and everything to harm myself, pain was the greatest pleasure I’d ever known.

Then, suddenly, the bell rang and jarred me out of my almost hypnotic state of mind. “Oh fuck me” I thought, I’d be late to class. I rolled up my sleeves, even though I was still bleeding a little, folded up my pocket knife, grabbed my backpack and walked into the now-almost deserted hallway. Luckily, my next class was just down the hallway a little. I got there and sat down in the back row just in time for the bell to ring again. I never paid attention in class, so I pulled out my sketchbook and began to sketch a drawing. That was the only thing I could do really well. Well, only two things, I could write songs and draw. Today, though, I let my pen wander around the page and when I did pay attention to what I was drawing, I realized it was a beautiful sketch of a woman. She was laying on the ground, blood pouring from her neck. I looked up as the teacher was looking straight at me. “Damien, the answer?” My face immediately shot to a blood red color, not unlike the color that poured from my arms not even an hour ago. “Um…sure, yeah, an answer?” My eyes shot to the blackboard. “Um, a noun?” The teacher rolled his eyes and said “This is math class, not English” Then, the bell rang and I was saved from that teacher. My next class was free so I just decided to go home, like always.

I walked out of the building as the bright sunlight beamed down upon my hopeless corpse. I was alive physically, but inside, I was dead to all emotions. I walked in the general direction of my house. But I took a different route as I usually did. I felt like taking the long way home. I hadn’t been this way in a long time, as it being the first day of spring. As I meandered my way down the road, I came upon an old abandoned house. It looked like quite an old house, at least a hundred years old. The roof had caved in and green moss and ivy was growing all over the house. Windows were busted in and the remains of what looked like a curtain were hanging in one window. Something, either in my head or in the house, whispered to me and told me to go in.

I walked up to the old wrought-iron gate, long since rusted all to hell, and opened the gate, instead of opening, it just fell off of it’s hinges. Damn, this house looked creepy as hell. It suited me well. I went inside via what looked like where the door once was. Inside was a half-rotten sofa, a busted in television and what looked like a coat rack. I then ventured into the kitchen. In there I found an old gas range and a sink, a typical kitchen setting. Then I noticed a door that was bolted shut. I undid the dead bolt, with much difficulty, it was near rusted shut. When I did get the door open, I found stairs going down. I looked up through the great hole in the ceiling and decided that I had enough daylight left to explore some more. I went down the stairs into the darkness. I couldn’t see much going down but there was a few basement windows and holes in the ceiling to give me enough light to see.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs I tripped over something. As I let my eyes adjust to the darkness, it looked like the figure of a small human. I touched it and it was deathly cold and sick smelling. I noticed the corpse was green with decay. What looked like a pink sundress was clinging to the child’s decaying skin and upon her head was decaying blond hair. She was clutching a small doll. I gave a sinister laugh. Maybe more insane than sinister but for some reason I felt comfortable next to this small dead child. I lifted up her decaying arm and took the doll she was clutching. Maggots were now on my hand, as before on the child. I flicked them off. The stench from this girl was terrible, but I sat down on the cold dirt floor next to her. I sat and rocked back and forth. I told her my name and what I always did to myself. I told her my whole story. I told her how when I was five my dad died and then my mom abandoned me with my aunt who was an alcoholic and beat me everyday. I told her how unhappy I was and how I wish I would have met her fate instead of the one I had.

The next time I looked up from her I noticed that it was almost dark outside. The sun was about to disappear beyond the horizon. I needed to get home. I did not want to go. I promised the little girl I would come back and talk to her some more. I really did not want to leave but I had to, my aunt would be furious if I weren’t home. She would find any excuse to beat the living hell out of me. For some insane reason in the short time I talked to that corpse I found solace in her. I had never told anyone my story before. And as I walked up the creaky decaying steps I felt the same high as feel when I cut. By the time I got out of the house, it was dark outside. My aunt would surely beat the fuck out of me, being this late and all. I walked down the road searching for some excuse, any excuse, that might ease up on the beating I was to receive. I looked down at my hands, and I realized I was still clutching the girl’s doll. It was so tattered and torn, I wiped the dirt and maggots off of it. It was one of those dolls when you laid it down it’s eyes would close. Only one of the eyes worked, the other one was missing. It didn’t have any hair either, it looked as if it had all been ripped out. I examined the doll more. Where it’s heart would be, being a human, was a large black spot in the cloth. “Wow, this doll feels how I feel.” I thought. I put the doll in my backpack as I reached my house. I had to hide it from my aunt, she would throw it in the garbage for sure. I snuck around the house to my window, luckily, I had left it open from the night before. I looked inside my room to see if my door had still been locked. It had, I was glad I bought the dead bolt and installed it in my door when I did because as soon as I got into my room, my aunt was pounding on the door, drunk again, as every day.

“Where the fuck are you? Open this god-damned door right now you piece of shit fucking faggot!” she screamed as she pounded on the door.

“Fuck you whore!” I screamed back. “Oh just wait until you come out of there, you have to some time, you cannot live in there forever you know…you will get it when I see you!” she yelled through the door at me. I didn’t answer and I heard footsteps going down the hallway I knew I had avoided a beating temporarily, but it would be ten folds worse the next round.

I laid on my mattress and I pulled out my sketch book and began another drawing. This one being a large demon strangling a little child. Behind the two figures was a shadow of a large woman beating a shadow of scrawny boy. The drawing looked as the demon and the child’s shadow was the large woman beating the boy. As I was putting on the finishing touches to the drawing I looked up at the clock on the floor, it saying 2:26 am, I decided it was safe to come out. My aunt would be passed out on the couch with the television blaring. I got up from my bed and unlocked my door quietly. I snuck down the hall and into the kitchen. First I spotted her purse. I dug into it until I found a fifty dollar bill. I shoved it into my pocket quickly, fifty would last me a long while on food and quite a few packs of razor blades. My aunt was loaded rich, she took all the insurance money when my dad died and blows it on liquor. Then I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I quickly turned on the shower and stripped naked. Then I grabbed the knife out of my pants pocket on the floor. I made a few gashes on my right leg. I let them bleed until I felt lightheaded and then I got a small hand towel and tightly wrapped it around my leg. I washed myself off and cleaned up the blood from the towel. I dried the rest of myself off and put my clothes back on.

I didn’t need to look in the mirror to see myself, I knew what I looked like. Black, scraggly hair down to my shoulder blades, extreme pallor in color with big bags under my pale gray eyes. Last time I weighed myself I was about 90 pounds. I never ate much, and blood loss made it worse. For a 16 year old boy I was about the width of a third grader. But I never cared about my looks or nevertheless cared about much of anything.

I unlocked the door and crept back to my room and bolted my door back. I put on a fresh long-sleeve black shirt. I always swore long sleeves, even if I didn’t have fresh cuts I had scars and I never wanted anyone to see them, let alone look at them myself. I then put on a pair of black baggy pants. I put the money and knife from my dirty pants into the ones I was wearing now. I then turned off my light and went to bed, hoping that I might die while in a much un-peaceful slumber.