It wasn't the first time, nor was it the second, and if all goes wrong, it may not be the last…

It wasn't the first time, nor was it the second, and if all goes wrong, it may not be the last…

In the washroom of the most elite finishing school for the gifted, in the United States of America, was a girl with long, raven black wavy hair, standing over the sink. She had an exacta knife that was stolen from her art class only moments ago – it was tipped on an angle going down towards her creamy soft flesh, where faded scars lay from early instances of this.

She waited long enough, there were no sounds coming from the hall just beyond the washroom door, and no one occupied any part of the washroom besides her. And then, she did it. Her lush lips parted with a menacing smirk as she glided the blade down and into her flesh, dragging it along until the length of it reached 2 inches down on a diagonal, her lips parted as she released a small, light laugh and then she lifted the blade from her now open, bleeding flesh to place it again in a different spot.

She continued her act against her own life again and again, until the bottom half of her right arm was layered in multiple cuts; some were already starting to scab, but she didn't care. She could still see the light trickle of red beads coming from the other slits along her arm and wrist. Then just as she watched one bead of blood, continue to tickle her as it flowed down and around her arm to fall into the sink, along with the many other drops of blood that had fallen before it, a thought crossed her mind, 'I can't wear two different shoes now can I? So why would I bare two different arms?'

The girl didn't wait for her conscience to register with a reply as to why she shouldn't be doing this; she didn't wait for anything, not ever. All she did was switch the blade from one hand to the other, and preceded cutting herself on the opposing arm. She continued until it too looked as her right arm did. Her lips once again spread into a menacing smile, that reached to her eyes, as she watched more and more of her life flow from her body.

"There, now I'll never have to think of that night EVER again. It'll be locked away in the depths of my grave, as will I," her cold voice stated as she looked back into the mirror. "Well, don't I look hideous?" she questioned herself, as she watched the slight flush in her cheeks disappear, as it too seeped out her arms through the passage she had created for it.

"It's all over now…" she said as her eyes became heavy, and her breathing slowed to that of a mere, faint slow rise in her chest, as she plummeted to the washroom floor, and her blood pooled around her body in little tricklets.