Fiction

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Fear can drive stick and it's taking me down this road. A road down which I swore I'd never go.

This wasn't the way to do it, and she knew that. She knew no other way, but this seemed so wrong...

And here I sit, thinking of God knows what, afraid to admit I might self destruct.

She stared at herself in the mirror, holding the blade. It was her only control. Every time she heard about these other people at school doing this, she thought it was completely stupid. Hypocrite.

So lock the windows and bolt the door, 'cause I've got enough problems without creating more.

There was no way she could tell anybody else about it. If her parents knew, they'd kill her before she could do it herself.

I feel like I was born for devastation and reform.

She was still very naive on the correct way to do this. She had only seen it on the television, so she knew there was a chance she did this incorrectly; she was scared. Lifting the blade to the center of her forearm, she slowly cut a straight line across, but it was a little too hard. Shoot... She had made the mistake of doing it in her room, so she ran to the bathroom, trying to cover the cut with her hand, but blood dripped onto the carpet.

Destroying everything I love, and the worst part is...

The door to the bathroom was usually opened, so she ran as fast as she could, but she only ran into the door. "Ouch!" She fell to the ground. Immediately, her brother opened the door. "Hey, what's goi--" His eyes widened. "No...way..." He was staring at the cut. "You're not...MOM!!"

"Matt, no! Please!"

I'll pull my heart out, reconstruct. But in the end it's nothing but a shell of what I had when I first started.

Matt stopped. "What? What do you want?" He glared at her arm. "Besides the obvious."

"It's not what it looks like! I--"

"You what?!?" His voice was raising. Louder. Angrier. More confused.

"I...got a paper cut."

He laughed. "That's the best you can think of? You got a paper cut that thick on the middle of your arm?" He shook his head. "I don't think I've ever heard anything so ridiculous." He ran out of the hall and heard the front door slamming, leaving her to do as she pleased. She knew that he would tell either Mom or Dad later, so she had to hurry and clean it all up.

An injury I'll cause with my own fist. It seems to me to be slightly masochistic.

She cleaned the blood off of her arm, and did her best to use her mother's foundation to cover up the cut, but there was no use. She ran back to her room and changed her shirt, which was covered in blood. Tears streaming down her face, she turned on her radio, music blaring, and sat on her bed. There was nothing she could do. It was over. "Do...Do I try again?" There was really no reason not to. She'd be caught soon anyways. She grabbed the same blade, but this time did something different. Something worse.

But there's be no story without all this dissension. So I inflict the conflict with utmost of intention.

Instead of cutting across her arm, she carelessly cut perpendicular to her previous cut, and along a vein. Before she knew it, the blood was pouring out. She had no idea what to do. She began to feel dizzy, and, immediately before her brother walked back into the house, she fell to the floor.



(Lyrics from Devastation & Reform by Relient K)

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