The handle of the knife is already wet. I'm sweating, but from fear or relief I don't know. I raise it to my arm and hold the edge against my soft skin. The liquid of my life pulses within it, so close to the cold air. I push slightly and watch as my skin stretches. It would be so easy, just to end it all, to watch as my life fell away, like the friends I thought would be there forever.

I move the knife slowly sideways, and my skin breaks. There is no torrent of red blood, just a small trickle. Iv'e had enough of wishing for what I can't have, for wanting what should have been mine.

This world isn't what I wanted. Where is my happy ending, where is the rich life I was promised. My hands are drenched now, but no longer from sweat. I lower them too my sides, and wait for sweet relief.

Nothing. I look down. The pool of blood stretches out in front of me, but my head feels clear. Anger seers through me. Why does nothing I do go right? Where is the veil of darkness that I hoped for.

I take the knife in my hand and stab at my arm. It goes in, and I feel the extreme pain, but no less awake. The dark room around me doesn't close in, and I see no bright light.

I stab again and again, feeling my flesh rip and seeing my blood fall to the dusty floor. Once again I feel nothing except the pain.

I take the knife and press it to my throat. Nothing could stop this from happening, and I felt no fear. I move the blade swiftly across my neck, feeling the sharp edge cut deep into my tender muscle. I heard the air escape from my open windpipe. I close my eyes and count backwards from ten, knowing that before I am finished, nothing will remain.

Zero. My eyes flick open. This cant be happening. I stagger to my feet and move to the stained mirror in the corner. I see the sliced flesh of my neck, feel the horrific pain as my blood oozes out. I cannot die. There will be no relief from my life. I take one quivering hand and press it to my chest. Where there was once a steady beat I felt an eery stillness. I was already dead.