The pocket knife glittered under the overhead lights of my bedroom, despite the deep crimson stains along the blade. It hadn't hurt, like I had expected it to--I was too numb for that. All that I had felt was a cool pressure against my wrist, and then a warm wetness as the blood began to flow.

I sat on the middle of my bed, and I just watched as the thin slit oozed out blood that traced slowly down the sides of my arm and dangled for several seconds before dropping to stain the white of my sheet. The red spots looked like tear drops, if they could be red. I felt a bitter laugh rise in my chest--how appropriate, I thought in contempt. I had shed so many tears, and now my wrist would cry until I was no longer here.

It seemed a suiting way to die.

My light was on, but nobody thought to check on me. And why would they? I wondered, my lip curling angrily. I was the normal one, the good child; the one who did what she was told and never talked back. That was all I was, all I meant to these people, the ones who called themselves my family.

Thinking of them sent a spear of guilt through me, and for a moment as I lifted the blade again, I hesitated--did I really want to do this? I had lost someone to death before--was I willing to knowingly inflict that psychological damage on anybody who would bother to miss me?

But thinking about family brought my father to mind. My father, who never paid attention to me no matter what I did. My father, who didn't know me nearly as well as he thought he did, and who would despise me if he ever discovered I wasn't the perfect daughter he assumed I was.

I liked girls. He would never accept that--he couldn't, wouldn't, because he was a "good, Christian man" and to him, I could only ever be a sinner, an abomination, something to be abhorred. He could never accept me, could never truly love me.

Bitter anger and despair welled up inside me, and my hesitation was gone, replaced by grim determination. This time, I pressed deeper, and it did hurt, but it was too late now for me to stop.

Methodically, with crystal tears tracing down my cheeks as a stark contrast to the red ones on my arms, I opened my veins until there was a river of red coming from my body challenged only by the clear waterfall gushing from my eyes. A sob welled in my chest, but I pressed my lips together to hold it back--I didn't want someone to hear and come find me too soon.

Once I was satisfied, I set my knife down. I hadn't bothered writing a note, and I regretted that now--maybe I should have told them why I was causing them pain. They deserved to know it was my revenge for all the times they'd unintentionally hurt me, as well as my way to find peace. But it was too late now. All I could do was close my eyes and wait.

Maybe I would burn in hell for this. Maybe I would burn in hell for liking girls when the Bible said that was a sin. I didn't know, and right now, I didn't care. My vision was going dark, my eyes were heavy. As they slowly closed, I didn't struggle to keep them open. A tired smile curled up my lips as I lay back, serene despite the macabre scene I knew awaited whoever opened my door tomorrow.

I was done fighting. It was time for me to give in, so that's exactly what I did.

As I stopped struggling, peace stole over me, a blissful reprieve. I sighed in relief--it felt so, so good. Then darkness stole over me, and I thought no more.

~*~

A/N:

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