She gazed at the nightstand. Specifically, she gazed at the knife on the nightstand. A ray of light glistened off the blade of the knife, and she sighed. She got up from her bed and walked over to the nightstand. She opened the drawer to make sure the letter was there, and only after she secured it did she retrieve the knife. She returned to her bed and sat on the edge of it, knife in hand.

She turned the knife over and over in her palm, watching the light bounce off of the blade. Am I really going to do this? She thought. After all these years I've spent here, is this really the best way to end it?

She spent a few more minutes dwelling on her thoughts and doubts before she cleared her mind. She held out he left wrist and grasped the knife firmly in her right hand. She placed the point of the knife against the left side of her wrist and began to apply pressure as she spun it around. Once a small circle that beaded blood appeared, she drew the knife in a diagonal line across her wrist. She watched the blood flow slowly from the line before spinning the knife in another circle. The pain from the cuts barely registered in her mind, all that mattered was that she got to finish.

She continued that pattern down her entire forearm before she repeated the process along her right wrist. The lines on this wrist were much sloppier, but that didn't matter to her. By now, her wrists were bleeding freely and her clothing and sheets were soaked with her life force. No backing out now, she thought.

She wiped the knife on a clear section of her bedspread and sighed. Her steadily bleeding arms raised the knife to her face, placing the tip in the right corner of her mouth. A line from an old Batman movie crossed her mind, and she smiled ruefully. Let's hope I won't be around to ask that question...

She dragged the knife towards her ears, painfully severing the flesh that made up her cheek. This pain was unbearable compared to the one in her wrist, but she didn't scream-she didn't want the skin to tear and hurt even more. She sawed her way through her cheek, dragging the knife steadily towards her ear despite the tears running down her face. By the time she finished the right side of her face, her vision was blurry and her head was swimming-from dizziness or blood loss she did not know. Like her thought process, her movements were lagging as she struggled to lift the knife to the left corner of her mouth. She mustered up the remains of her strength and yanked the knife up the left side of her face. The line on the left curved upward in the same way as the one on the left, completing the image of a smile. She thought. She flopped backwards on her bed with her arms outstretched. The knife fell out of her grip and bounced along the floor, coming to a stop in front of her door. She closed her eyes and fell under the spell of unconsciousness, the smile permanently carved on her face marking the expression she would have worn, had she been able to.

"Maverick, go call your sister. It's time for dinner." Maverick groaned. "Do I really have to? Can't we just eat without her? It's not like she needs to eat anyways..." Maverick's mother turned around to cast a glare at her son, and that was all the response he needed. He got up from his perch on the couch and ran up the stairs.

Maverick threw open his sister's door without knocking. "Hey useless, get your fat ass down-stairs. Mom says it's di..." His voice trailed off as he took in the state of his sister. She lay unmoving on sheets that were stained red with blood, her blood. Blood that was still flowing from slashes spanning the length of her forearms, blood that was still flowing from two large gashes on her face, two gashes that looked like they split her face in half from where he stood. Shock paralyzed Maverick's body, and he fell to the floor on his knees. His body pitched forwards, and his shoulder fell on the knife that was in the doorway. He didn't even register the pain, the image of his dead, bloody sister taking up all of his conscious thought.

Downstairs, Maverick's mother began to get impatient. Where in the hell is that boy with his sister? Putting down the dishrag, she walked up the stairs and towards her daughter's room. She saw Maverick's feet sticking out of the doorway and glared. "Maverick," she started. "This is no time for playing around. Get up off the floor and get to the dinner table."

When Maverick made no move to get up off the floor, his mother nudged one of his outstretched feet. In response, he curled up in a fetal position. She frowned at her son's reaction. This is unlike him, what's wrong? She entered the room in a crouch, laying a hand on her son's trembling back. She peered at his face, suddenly becoming curious and a bit worried. Maverick's face was screwed up, wracked with some unknown emotion. Tears flowed heavily from his eyes, which were shut tightly.

She got up, confusion shining strongly through her expression. What could have possibly gotten him to act li... Her train of thought crashed violently when her eyes landed on the bloody body of her daughter on the bed. Her hand flew to her mouth immediately, but the scream she was trying to cover up escaped anyways. Tears poured from her eyes like water flowing from a broken dam. She rushed from the room and to the nearest phone to call an ambulance. Please please please don't let it be too late for her...