No More Worries for Miku

She never thought of herself as a "somebody." She never even began to believe in the will of survival or the faith of her hope returning. Miku hit rock bottom and she knew it just as well as the next person. The scars on her arms and legs revealed that very fact. She never wanted anything but death.

Oh, how she longed for the taste of death, the knowing of falling asleep and never waking up, of bleeding to death in her bathtub as her parents slept in the next room. She'd always think of it. What did she have to lose? Just her life, which wasn't valued at any extent. 

Miku had nobody to care for her, nobody to love, nobody to be loved by...she always thought of herself as unlovable and a waste of space. She'd written countless suicide notes, but never did anything with them; only put them in her top dresser drawer for later usage. The only reason she never put one out and ended everything was because of the drama that would spread due to her sweet, blissful suicide. "She only did it for attention. She was a bitch, anyway," the preps and jocks would say. She didn't want that even after death. But, she decided that if she was dead, she wouldn't have to deal with it. 

Miku grabbed her latest, longest and most heartbreaking note out of her dresser drawer, unfolded it, put it on her bed and grabbed the box underneath her bed. She took the box in the bathroom, came out of the bathroom and paced back and forth in her room. She looked at her alarm clock. 3:28 a.m. Perfect.  

Walking into the bathroom again, she began to think about her life and what caused her gut-wrenching depression. She could'nt think of when it began, it'd been going on so long. She softly began to weep and collapsed to the floor. Why did her depression start? Nobody knew, including herself. She just always let it get the best of her and, tonight, it was consuming her entirely.

With makeup perfectly running down her face, thoughts of death running through her mind, she stood up and closed the bathroom door. Miku reached for the box, opened it and revealed a never-used, perfectly sharp razor she had been saving for this very night. She ever so carefully set the razor down, started the water in the tub and undressed ever so quietly so she didn't disturb her parents. When she divulged her undergarments, she stepped into the bath water one foot at a time, blade in hand. Her heart pounded and she felt anxious, nervous and an over-whelming feeling of utter excitement. "It's finally happening," she thought. "It's finally here." 

Miku quietly sat down in the bath water and turned the water off. She sank further and further down into the water, letting it completely surround and devour every inch of her. She took the razor, pressed it to her wrist, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed as hard as her body would allow her. She took the razor and slowly dragged it down her wrist all the way to where her arm bends. The silence of the bathroom almost made it so she could hear the very sound of her flesh being torn apart by the blade. She opened her eyes and was amazed at the damage. She was bleeding profusely. The blood rapidly rolled down her arm and into the water, coloring the water a perfect shade of light pink, getting darker with every drop of blood that fell. 

She grabbed the razor in her completely mutilated arm and began to slash the other wrist as violently as a human could. The blood completely poured out of the wounds and gashes, making her want to cut even more. The stream of red liquid made her fill up with total enjoyment. 

When she felt as if that was enough damage, she put the razor on the blood-stained edge of the tub and laid down in the water. She put her arms on either edge of the tub away from the water so she could continue to watch herself bleed out ever so slowly. She slowly began to fall asleep and, the next morning, never woke up. No more stress. No more hatred. No more depression...

No more worries for Miku.