The Girl Inside The Glass

I was alone until I met her.
My best friend. My only friend.
But she is trapped in the glass. I will save her.

My both sides of the story competiton entry.

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4. Red tears

Once the bell rang I sprinted out the doors and through the gates.

I despised that place; the grey concrete building squatting in its concrete swamp. The sound of students melted away into as I rounded the first corner.

And walked into a fist.

I recoiled, clutching my nose. Scarlet blood trickled through my fingers. The sound of laughter echoed in my pounding head.

I remember the gang of girls, jeering and shouting encouragement to their leader - a fat girl with too small eyes too close together. As soon as she had punched me I had known who it was. Stephanie. The girl who had decided to hate me.

Afterwards it was a blur, my memory reduced to fuzzy snapshots.

Hands pushing me to the ground.

Relentless kicks to my side.

Curling up in a ball, like a baby in a womb.

Crying up to the sky, watching the sun dwindle.

My head smashing against the wall, breaking my already shattered mind.

Blackness.

 

My body woke up countless hours later.

My mind was still hiding, but my legs managed to rise unsteadily. I staggered out of the now deserted alley and my feet took me through the streets to my house. My head was waking up along with the pain. Droplets fell freely from my eyes as I stumbled inside down the corridor and to the bathroom. I turned the tap on and the bath began to fill.

My uniform was torn and streaked with blood. My side had shoe shapes imprinted upon it, the flesh mashed into purple mincemeat.

My body was shedding red tears.

I collapsed on the floor, my body racked with silent sobs.

When I had moved to that school I was full of optimism. I was different, and unafraid. A smile was never far away from my lips.

But people don’t like different.

I once saw Stephanie hanging behind the empty classroom. Tears squirted from her tiny eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was okay.

She had looked up, her face creased with hatred.

That had been the first time she hit me.

Suddenly I wished my knife was in my hand. All the fear, dread, self-loathing bubbled inside me. When I slit my skin the poison within all poured out.

For a while the pain in my skin would eclipse the far worse pain in my heart.

The bath had filled a third of the way. I looked at the shimmering surface.

 

And I see her.

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