Wounded

A Short Story

I slashed the small blade across my pale wrist and watched precariously as fresh red blood hit the linoleum with a muted splat. Pain shot up through my arm before I had even taken my next breath. I stared at the large gash for a long time, blinking away several tears in the process.

Wow.

I didn't think I was going to be all free-handed with my little blade.

Oh well. It's not like it was my first time.

The cut was marred in a more diagonal way than I was aiming at. The brim had already turned a deep crimson colour - dark, when compared to the rich scarlet drops dotted around my cold, bare feet.

I stared at the floor. Woah.

I hadn't realised just how much blood had been dripping down my arm...down my trembling fingers. I looked closely at the ripples. A droplet of blood hung from the tip of my index finger. It paused, and then wobbled before joining the others on the plastic floor.

I don't know why it seemed to look graceful. I really don't.

I felt feebly along the wall. Click. Everything went black.

I blinked twice, and cursed silently as the pain began resceding - leaving me alone with my seldom thoughts.

So much for a good distraction, eh?

I felt disturbingly moist, yet the bathroom was fiercly cold. I yanked the window to a close and realised my eyes stung. Only then did I become aware that I was crying. Really badly too. My chest throbbed.

How could you not know you were crying? Was I really losing every bit of my mind, my senses?

I felt my shoulders slump in despair - all the weight in the room was pushing down on me. I couldn't breathe. I sank slowly to the floor, defeated, not caring that my clothes were soaked with blood, or that everyone wished for me to be dead. My body pressed against the cold, wet floor. I tried to gasp. My arms wrapped around my numb legs for warmth, though I couldn't feel a thing.

I buried my face in my thick, black hair - it felt like some sort of wall between me and the whole damn world..especially him.

But I love him... I did not resurface.

Umm, yes. Not the most amazing short story ever. My fault, i admit.

It is a very random thing to write about, and it's very vivid, in my opinion, but hey - it's a topic that I have been frequently aquainted with and I find it very personal.

Self harming sucks. Period.

Any thoughts, what so over?

Thank you: