Stranger

Bruises

"She paints a pretty picture,

But this picture has a twist;

You see, her paintbrush is a razor,

And her canvas is her wrist.

She paints her pretty picture

In a color that's blood red,

While using her sharp paintbrush,

She finally ends up dead.

Her pretty pictures fading

Quite slowly on her arm.

The blood is no longer running through her,

She can do no more harm.

She painted her pretty picture,

But her picture had a twist;

You see, her mind was the razor,

And her heart was just her wrist."

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"Stop moving!", he yells, slamming my wrists on the wall. I gasp from the impact of him squeezing my cuts. The many cuts I have made. Old and new. The ones everyone calls me freak for having.

-Flashback-

It all happened yesterday. The day went as usual; usual teasing and abuse from school. The worse that happened that day was being pushed up the stairs. Just got a little bruise on my knee, nothing too bad. While walking home I went to see if there was any jobs around here available, so I walked around town instead of going the usual way. Taking my time, I looked at all the buildings I could possible work at. Going past the Courier Cafe, I notice they have a wanted sign in the window.

I think it over if I really want the job. It'll take away the free time I have and I don't know if my father would allow me to not be home. But it would be money and I could start saving for college. I walk into the small cafe to get an application to fill out and go to a table. Knowing how to fill it out from the many jobs I have applied to, I start the application.

When I was little my mom and dad would always take me there and we would have fun just talking to each other. I would always get a sundae and they were something else. They were pretty amazing. It was such a small cafe that I don't think many people really know about it. It was in between building and kinda just blended in. It's such an underrated little cafe. It's truly amazing and I think more people should know about.

Once I fill everything out, I give the application to the cute boy at the counter, about my age. He must be from another school. He smiles and we bid our goodbye. Hopefully they will hire me. I need this job so I have some sort of money. As I was walking out I looked at the clock on the wall to see what time it was. Oh shit! It's already 6:50 and I need to make dinner by 7!

It takes 15 to get home and 30 to actually cook dinner. Well my ass is grass. I guess I could speed walk and get home in 11 minutes but it would make no difference. I don't even try speed walking because it's already too late. His food is always made and he eats at a certain time. After he eats he gets ready to go out. Probably to go do some random girl he meets at the bar.

Ever so often he brings girls home late at night. He doesn't take the time to think about how I feel in this kind of situation. I still blame myself for my mothers death and he knows damn well I do. He even blames me for it but he still never took into consideration on how I truly feel about it and he never will. From the day my mother died, all he has done is think about himself. All he wants from me is to make him food and take his anger out on me.