I’m shaving my legs. I slowly slide the razor up my leg, and smile with satisfaction as it leaves behind a trail of smooth, tanned skin. I start my second stroke, and a few inches above my ankle, the razor stumbles and skids. The leg once covered with fine blond hair catapults into a gory mess of bloody skin with warm crimson liquid slowly seeping out. I’m numb for a second, watching in fascination as the blood pools into a sticky puddle of red, staining the tanned summer of my legs.

Then the pain jumps in, scorching my flesh with a sadistic delight. I close my eyes tight, letting the pain explode in my body. The burning pain bursts in my calf, and quickly spreads to every part of me. My hands are shaking with the contained agony, and salty tears dribble down my frail cheeks.

I slowly rock, back and forth, to the rapid thumping in my heart. The aching torture merges with my body, my soul, and my mind. With me.

The fiery flames of hellish agony are the only things that can hurt me. Nothing else can. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So I must continue. As long as I keep making cuts in my flesh, pain will burst forth. And I can control that pain. I can blend it into my very being. And that will make me invincible. Nothing else can touch me.

So for the sake of a little blood lost, why not?