Nine years old. She compulsively gnaws away at her fingers. A habit she's had since she was just little and she can't stop. Tried numerous times but she always falls back to her old ways. Her teeth pierce the skin of her middle finger, calloused and rough from the hundreds of times it's been re-grown only to be bitten away. It's painless now as she peels the skin back. Blood flows forth from beneath the wound. Still no pain. The blood comes forth in earnest and she sticks the finger in mouth. Tastes the metallic taste, sort of liking it. It takes her nearly half an hour to make the bleeding stop.

Twelve years old. For the first time blood flows from her vagina. She will use pads for almost a year, afraid to stick a tampon up there. The blood comes every month. She grows used to it, to the regularity.

Sixteen years old. She listens to her parents argue downstairs. She draws a blade out from under her bed and slowly traces a familiar grid across her forearm. Shining red spurts forth, making the designs almost pretty. Later it will sting and and the scars on her wrists will be further immortalized, but for now it's okay. For now, it takes her mind away.

Twenty-one years old. A man is lying face down at her feat. A pool of blood is forming on the tile beneath his head. In her hand is the iron beam she picked up in his shed. His blood shines on the beam as well. It feels as though her whole life is covered in blood.