A young girl stared down her reflection in the mirror. She watched her pale and sunken appearance change quickly as tears begin to spill down her cheek, destroying her best attempt at makeup for the day. She hastily pulled on her school dress, the bottle green and white checkered dress was never appealing to her and ever since she started grade eleven, placing the thin fabric on her now beaten and fragile body was enough to instantly fill her with fear for what the day had in store for her.
The girl's now mascara-stained face was hiding a lot more than the average sixteen year old girl and her clothing hid her darkest secrets. You see, beneath that stupid uniform dress, which she was forced to wear to hell every day, bruises lined her skin; the blue and purple discolouration on her body was always somewhat beautiful to her, the fact that blood had broken free from the vessels inside of her and transformed her skin into such a tragic, abstract art piece was always fascinating and kind of appealing to her.
Her thighs held the result of her attempt to control her own pain, riddled with thin white lines and the faint outline of a small heart permanently craved into her skin and inked black is a constant reminder of what she's been through and who she's had to leave behind. The process of destroying her skin had more control over her as her thoughts were becoming darker and more demonic as the familiar sensation of the sharp stinging shot across her upper thigh, demanding her full attention.
She never once appeared to be frail or vulnerable but inside she was shattered just waiting for her exterior to crack so she could ooze out all of the pent-up emotions which she had hidden so quietly for so long. She was quite a solid build due to her genetics so no one took a second thought about how starving and thin she really was, and although, she disguised her face behind her completely straight, ash blonde hair, but if you looked deep enough into her dark chocolate coloured eyes, you could see the silent screams of her mind. Her younger self was much different though, she was always the happy-go-lucky kid that excelled in all areas of life, especially socially and no one would have picked that she would be the one to grow up to be so god damn sad.
You see, now she had been subjected to years of bullying which completely twisted and contorted her perspective of life and destroy what she had of self esteem. She lost hope and she become nothing but a shell of herself, empty and dead inside yet tragically beautiful to any one who didn't give a second glance.
Have you ever seen those super cheesy and overly cliched movies, where the slightly overweight, monstrous child with the very very unfortunate hair cut throws the much smaller, nerdy protagonist against a wall in the school grounds? Yeah, well...That's me, the smaller, nerdy one that is...But the catch is, I am not an actor or even in a movie. I am Noah. I am 16 and this is my messed up life...
I was eight years old when it happened the first time, but I still remember it as vividly as if it had only happened yesterday. The pain which consumed my whole body as the group of kids forced me face first into the basketball courts in the school playground. I was screaming for help as I was constantly pushed around by my peers but that help never arrived. I was kicked in the back and fell down, hard. I'll never forget the words which was spat down at me or how the wet, metallic taste of blood mixed with the dirty asphalt dominated my taste buds as my eye began to bleed; hot, salty tears trickle down my cheeks as my emotions finally caught up with the situation in front of me. I was terrified. I hastily wiped my face with the back of my forearm, I glanced up as I placed the very same arm upon my head to block out the harsh, judgmental stare of the yellow sun which was burning down over the top of the three kids who decided to bring this torment to my life. I've never liked the colour yellow but I certainly don't like it now.
They eventually got bored of kicking at my curled up frame and ran off. I stayed there for a while, tears still bleeding down my face and before I knew the world began to consume me within its darkness. I didn't really care, and in that moment I had experienced my first thoughts about suicide. My head hurt a lot and seem to have been lacerated in result to the fall which had stained my white blonde hair, my hands and knees ached and stung from the friction created when I was pushed into the asphalt ground. I found myself walking along the now abandoned streets in the darkness with the dim and blinking street lights being the only source of light in my life. The rest of the night isn't important or even significant enough for me to recall. I do however, know that I was broken and afraid.I remember when my grade 5 teacher called my parents to a meeting to discuss my behaviour. I wasn't a naughty child and I didn't really step out of line at all, but I do remember being asked to sit outside yet, hearing quite clearly, the conversation between my mother and Miss Wilder, "Noah, has this certain hardness in her eyes. It's as if there is not a single drop of motivation or care in her. I worry about your daughter, Mrs Bailey.". After leaving the meeting, I cried in my room for the remaining hours left of that cold day of June. I felt things... I felt everything, all at once and then nothing at all, I was numb. I was eight, and for the past ten years I have been exactly that...numb.
