Broken

"Put a gun to my head." "And do what?" "Pull the damn trigger."

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2. Suicidal

A flash of silver and a drop of red. The white tiles are speckled with red dots and little, red pools. Tears drip down my cheeks as more silver flashes across my wrist. The blade moves faster and the white turns red. I drop the blade in my blood on the floor. As it falls through the air it flashes light to my tear streaked face before clattering on the ground, cold and grey. The blood flows down my arm, across my new cuts and my scars and my hand to hit the floor the same way the blade did. Shining in the light before going dark on the floor. 

I pick another blade out of my blade bag, leaving the first one on the floor. I bring it to my other wrist and start slashing at it. My cuts drip blood across my body while I scar my left wrist, even more than it already is. More tears fall, mixing with my blood. It goes a dark pink color and reminds me of my childhood. The old memories of times when I was happy float through my head, bringing my tears to sobs. I drop the second blade beside the first and stand up. My vision goes black and my head spins. I sneak a peak at my wrists. The blood flows smoothly from my veins, causing the floor to be covered in little dots and tiny pools. I sit back down, facing the bloody patch of tile, more red spots fall around me. I lay down with my head next to the bathtub.

I reach into my pocket and pull out two pieces of paper, one for my parents and one for my only other family member, my brother.

"I'm sorry." I whisper to the paper before grabbing one of the blades and slicing a single straight line of red across each wrist, deeper than any of the other cut i've ever made. The black spots across my vision and the red surrounding my body are satisfying and I begin to fade out. 

When they find me, they'll find the notes. They'll know how badly I want to die. They'll explain how long I've been cutting for and why. They'll explain my shitty life and why I left them. They'll explain how much I loved them. They'll explain why I don't want them to mourn me, even though I know they will. Because maybe, just maybe, I'll be happy again. 

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