A Thousand Knives
Shimizu Asuka

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I grew up like any other normal child. I was young and without a care in the world. I played with toys and jumped with my skipping rope. But the whole time it felt like something was missing. A hole in my life, unexplainable to just a mere child. I was incomplete, spending my days alone with my dolls. I dressed up and pretended that I was a beautiful princess who was loved by everyone; I even painted my lips. Wishing, always wishing for someone to love me.

The life that I lead is an infuriating cycle, where the beginning meets the end and just keeps on repeating. I get up, go to school, go home, work, sleep and then wake up in the morning to do it all over again. I exhaust myself with the same routine over and over again. I just want to break the cycle and be free of the prison bars holding me to the thing that some people would call life. I call it hell.

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I'm starting to feel different, my life holds even less excitement and value than it did before. I keep wishing for something to change, only because I can't change it myself. If I wait out the bad then good should come... shouldn't it? I need to find a release for my pain and frustration before it swallows me whole. I need it out of me, I feel it leaking from my pores. I feel it rampaging inside me like a stampede of rhinos. My body shakes with conflicting emotions, sorrow, anger, hate, and pain. So much pain. Looking around me I notice that there is nothing that I like, nothing that I love. Everything I've ever loved has been torn from me, like I am but a mere child again and no one cares.

Walking out in the cold I notice it. There is a tingling and anxious feeling coursing through my veins. I just want something to fill the gaping hole in my chest. Anything to fill the gap. I pull out a cigarette and light it, wincing as the strong smoke assaults my throat. I can feel the cold like a thousand sharp knives nicking my skin. I inhale and feel dull pain in my already sore throat but I don't care. I will keep inhaling until the cigarette is finished and then light up another one; trying to dull the pain inside. Always trying to dull the pain. Holding out my hand I barely felt the cold anymore. I clench my fingers; I watch them move but I can't feel them. I know they are moving but I feel the sensation in my head.

I drop my cigarette and watch it fall to the ground and step on it, with a feeling of closure; and I light up a second. I can feel my blood pumping through me as if it was thicker. I am shaking from the cold and the nicotine invading my system. I can feel my heart racing as I take another drag. By this point it is starting to burn every single time, but that is nothing compared to what I feel inside. This ache inside me gets worse and I feel like I can't handle it anymore. Sometimes thoughts flicker through my mind; thoughts of dying. How peaceful and pleasant it would be. I don't want it to be by my own hand, maybe just go to sleep and never wake up. Sleep is very peaceful.

I finish my cigarette, smoking it down to the filter. I've heard that smoking the filter can make your lungs bleed, but at this point I don't care. I step on the butt and turn to go inside out of the cold. Once I am inside the heat assaults my cold skin and I feel a burning once more. I take off my coat and my slippers and leave them by the door for the next time I need a fix.

I am cold right down to my core, I shiver even though I can feel the heat radiating through my clothes. I am still cold, I am still in pain, but less, always less.

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The shower I step into is steaming and at first it hurts my frozen skin. I take the physical pain in place of my ache of loneliness, if only to try and soften the edges around the hole in my chest. I can't believe that I've come this far, alone, but never alone. My mind is racing constantly with thoughts I don't wish to bear and if only, if only my poor racing mind would slow down and take a breath. I don't wish to tell you my thoughts, only this, the memories I have of my past are not always pleasant. Hard to bear, and harder still to cry.

Dressing for bed is simple. I grab a shirt and pyjama pants, always plaid of course, and put them on. They are cold from my dresser, with no body heat to warm them up. I crawl into bed and dream of a better day. The day that I never wake up.

-fin-