A Girl With Two Endings
She sat there in science, staring at the angry red marks on her left wrist. In her right, her pencil was clutched. She’d never actually cut, but she wondered what it felt like. Why did sad people like it? Did it make them happier? Would it make her happier? Pretending that her pencil was a blade, she dragged it across her wrist once more, and felt a weight lift off her chest. Is this what it feels like? It hurt a little, but it hurt less than what hurt her before.
She sat in the choir room waiting for her group to go on stage, staring at those red marks once again. She glanced behind her and locked eyes with the girl she loves but can never have. Her Romeo of sorts. Remembering the release she felt before, she took out her pencil and dragged it across her wrist 10 times and then 10 more times on the other. She sighed, feeling a little better, but not completely.
She sat in her brother’s car, staring numbly out the window. Disappointed again. Lied to again. Given pointless hope… again. Secret, silent tears slid down her sillouette, swiftly being swept away by a sly hand. As soon as the car stopped, she sped into the house, not saying a word to anyone and locked herself in her room. She took of her dress, got into her pajamas and sat down on her bed. When her mother called, she didn’t answer. When her sister mocked her, she stayed silent. The next morning, her father woke up and saw her door closed. When she left for school she always left it open. She couldn’t afford to miss anymore school. He knocked first. No answer. She must still be asleep. He opened the door. He cried.
On the bed, his little girl lied in a puddle of blood. Her wrist was split open. Next to the razor blade was a pencil. It hadn’t been enough.
She was sixteen. Now the truth.
She sat in her brother’s car, staring numbly out the window. Disappointed again. Lied to again. Given pointless hope… again. Secret, silent tears slid down her sillouette, swiftly being swept away by a sly hand. As soon as the car stopped, she sped into the house, not saying a word to anyone and locked herself in her room. She took of her dress, got into her pajamas and sat down on her bed. She went downstairs and pretended to be okay. She got snacks and left again. Chocolate always made her feel better. She cried for a while in her bed. She got out her laptop. She looked at the screen blankly. Out of her periferal, she saw a pencil. She felt the memory surface again. She leaned over and grabbed it. The pencil marks from before were gone. She made 20 new ones for each wrist. She put the pencil down and stared at her wrist. It didn’t help as much as it did before. What would it be like for real? Then she heard her little sister squeal in the bath and her mom yell at her little brother. She could never do that to them. She wanted to be better for them.
She sat on her bed, her laptop in her lap and the pencil beside her. She opened her random idea document and she wrote this story. Now she feels better.
