I collapsed onto my bed once I reached my flat. Pulling the duvet over my head I tried, vainly to block out her screams, as the car swerved, all those months ago. The smell of her perfume lingered in my nose. The repugnant echo of the smell I had once cherished. No miracle spray would ever clear the air around me. Blame was a stench I could never be rid of. Even dad blamed me; I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me. Although recently he had avoided my presence altogether. He probably couldn’t bear looking at the killer of his wife; me. I hadn’t wanted her to die. God, I would give up anything… everything… to turn back the past few months and keep her alive.
Who was I kidding? She had died because of me and my selfish need to be popular. And now I was paying for it. Being paid with constant reminders of whom I had killed. Was that why she was always there? Why I saw her reflected in the shop windows? Why I heard her call my name in a crowd? Why I smelt her perfume in the wind? I rolled over onto my side and stared round my room. Everything here was a reminder. The necklace she bought me. The curtains she helped me choose. She even painted the walls that surrounded me.
I wish she would leave me alone. I hadn’t meant to kill her, but still I was being tortured. I had tried endless ways to get rid of her. Meditation was useless; made my mind even more full of her thoughts. Running helped a lot, but I couldn’t run forever. I had even tried talking about it to Kirsty but now she thought I was some sort of freak. I thought letting my thoughts out would help me, but instead by tomorrow the whole school would think I was a mental retard who should be shut up in an asylum. It was no use, there was nothing left to do that could get her away from me. I was going to be stuck with her forever.
I sat bolt upright. I had completely forgotten about cutting my wrists. People said it helped sometimes. Well that’s what Kirsty said.
“It makes your mind really clear, means you have to think about the pain rather than your problems.”
Well, I thought. It might make mum go away. Might stop me from dreaming about her every night. I shuddered as I recalled the night before. Waking up in a cold sweat from seeing my mum… again. She had crawled out from under the upturned car in the ditch. She’d been covered in blood, like she was when we saw her lifeless form in the theatre once she had died. She had started walking towards me, calling me a murderer. I had tried to run, but my feet wouldn’t move from the road. And I had just stood and watched as she carried on towards me, closer and closer…
I reached for the compass on my shelf, trying to shake away the memories of last night. I took a deep breath and pulled it across my wrist. Except for a brief moment of pain, right after I cut; it was useless. There wasn’t enough pain for her voice to stop shouting at me, if anything she was louder. I cut my wrist again and again trying to make the pain worse and worse. But I only got little moments of peace. I needed a deeper cut. One that would last forever.
Pulling on my shorts I took a knife from the kitchen and walked through to the bathroom. I couldn’t cut my wrist with a knife, not with so many arteries and veins near the surface. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to be free. Plus someone would see, and I definitely wasn’t going to be carted off to some mental home. But I couldn’t cope with mum shouting at me any more. I had to get some peace and quiet. Sitting down in the bath I leant with my back against it with my feet on the wall. Any blood that escaped would go straight down the plughole.
I got hold of my knife and carefully followed imaginary lines on my legs without making any marks. Should I really do this? The metal felt so cold as it pressed against my flesh. The knife was so soft and faultless. No unseen scratches or scuffs; just smooth, perfect, metal that felt like velvet as it stroked your skin. How could anything so perfect be so deadly as well? I tipped the knife slightly to the left and made my first incision. The pain that shot through my body brought my mind back to the here and now. All I could feel was the pain in my head; I couldn’t hear my mum any more. I couldn’t hear her last words to me. I couldn’t smell the scent of rose water that she always wore. I was me again.
Again I let the cold knife caress my body, and as the pain started to ebb away slightly I let its metallic bite separate my skin. The blood seeped out into the air. I drew the knife sideways, peeling my skin from the muscle inside, leaving the skin still attached, while I tore away at the muscles. I dug deeper now, into my thighs, tearing out my muscles. I could feel the knife twisting inside me as I probed through my tendons. It was like a frozen metal snake weaving its self through me. I felt every tendon break like an electric shock of pain coursing through my body. Each shock made me feel more alive. Each shock brought me closer to myself. Each shock made me carry on.
Without my mum’s voice in my ear I could see everything more clearly. Every thing fascinated me with its bright, beautiful colours. I watched as the blood trickled along my legs and down the plughole. My thoughts wondered along various paths in my mind. Where would my blood end up? A piece of me could merge with the gunge that lined the sewers below the city. A piece of me could lie congealed, on the sides of pipes under the ground. A piece of me could disappear into the vast unknown world. I slowly wiped away a pool of blood on my legs to see underneath. For a few second I could see the tangle of thread that lay inside my body. Each strand unique in it’s own way. Each one never quite the same as another. All of them rapidly being engulfed by my flow of blood.
tell me what u think....
Who was I kidding? She had died because of me and my selfish need to be popular. And now I was paying for it. Being paid with constant reminders of whom I had killed. Was that why she was always there? Why I saw her reflected in the shop windows? Why I heard her call my name in a crowd? Why I smelt her perfume in the wind? I rolled over onto my side and stared round my room. Everything here was a reminder. The necklace she bought me. The curtains she helped me choose. She even painted the walls that surrounded me.
I wish she would leave me alone. I hadn’t meant to kill her, but still I was being tortured. I had tried endless ways to get rid of her. Meditation was useless; made my mind even more full of her thoughts. Running helped a lot, but I couldn’t run forever. I had even tried talking about it to Kirsty but now she thought I was some sort of freak. I thought letting my thoughts out would help me, but instead by tomorrow the whole school would think I was a mental retard who should be shut up in an asylum. It was no use, there was nothing left to do that could get her away from me. I was going to be stuck with her forever.
I sat bolt upright. I had completely forgotten about cutting my wrists. People said it helped sometimes. Well that’s what Kirsty said.
“It makes your mind really clear, means you have to think about the pain rather than your problems.”
Well, I thought. It might make mum go away. Might stop me from dreaming about her every night. I shuddered as I recalled the night before. Waking up in a cold sweat from seeing my mum… again. She had crawled out from under the upturned car in the ditch. She’d been covered in blood, like she was when we saw her lifeless form in the theatre once she had died. She had started walking towards me, calling me a murderer. I had tried to run, but my feet wouldn’t move from the road. And I had just stood and watched as she carried on towards me, closer and closer…
I reached for the compass on my shelf, trying to shake away the memories of last night. I took a deep breath and pulled it across my wrist. Except for a brief moment of pain, right after I cut; it was useless. There wasn’t enough pain for her voice to stop shouting at me, if anything she was louder. I cut my wrist again and again trying to make the pain worse and worse. But I only got little moments of peace. I needed a deeper cut. One that would last forever.
Pulling on my shorts I took a knife from the kitchen and walked through to the bathroom. I couldn’t cut my wrist with a knife, not with so many arteries and veins near the surface. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to be free. Plus someone would see, and I definitely wasn’t going to be carted off to some mental home. But I couldn’t cope with mum shouting at me any more. I had to get some peace and quiet. Sitting down in the bath I leant with my back against it with my feet on the wall. Any blood that escaped would go straight down the plughole.
I got hold of my knife and carefully followed imaginary lines on my legs without making any marks. Should I really do this? The metal felt so cold as it pressed against my flesh. The knife was so soft and faultless. No unseen scratches or scuffs; just smooth, perfect, metal that felt like velvet as it stroked your skin. How could anything so perfect be so deadly as well? I tipped the knife slightly to the left and made my first incision. The pain that shot through my body brought my mind back to the here and now. All I could feel was the pain in my head; I couldn’t hear my mum any more. I couldn’t hear her last words to me. I couldn’t smell the scent of rose water that she always wore. I was me again.
Again I let the cold knife caress my body, and as the pain started to ebb away slightly I let its metallic bite separate my skin. The blood seeped out into the air. I drew the knife sideways, peeling my skin from the muscle inside, leaving the skin still attached, while I tore away at the muscles. I dug deeper now, into my thighs, tearing out my muscles. I could feel the knife twisting inside me as I probed through my tendons. It was like a frozen metal snake weaving its self through me. I felt every tendon break like an electric shock of pain coursing through my body. Each shock made me feel more alive. Each shock brought me closer to myself. Each shock made me carry on.
Without my mum’s voice in my ear I could see everything more clearly. Every thing fascinated me with its bright, beautiful colours. I watched as the blood trickled along my legs and down the plughole. My thoughts wondered along various paths in my mind. Where would my blood end up? A piece of me could merge with the gunge that lined the sewers below the city. A piece of me could lie congealed, on the sides of pipes under the ground. A piece of me could disappear into the vast unknown world. I slowly wiped away a pool of blood on my legs to see underneath. For a few second I could see the tangle of thread that lay inside my body. Each strand unique in it’s own way. Each one never quite the same as another. All of them rapidly being engulfed by my flow of blood.
tell me what u think....