Fallen Angel

1.0

Five for my mother.
Three for my brother.
Four for my father.
And two for me.

Dead.

I'm not dead yet. I've tried trust me. What's the point of my living? I'm just another waste of space. A floating soul in the abyss. Another person who will die and no one will notice. My only reason to live is dead so I might as well go with it. Right?

Before their deaths, I was never a fan of self harm, I never saw the reason for it. But now I understand.

The itch to pick up the blade and slice. The adrenaline that passes you as the blade pricks your skin. The blood dripping down, expressing your emotion. And finally the sting you get after you finish.

My mother always told me try it you might like it. Would she still tell me that if she saw me now? The pills I swallowed, "try it you'll like it". The scars I've made,"try it you'll like it". The failed attempts "practice makes perfect".

Here at the orphanage we aren't supposed carry metal. But I still do it. The conditions are bad but they still respect privacy. And yeah, you read right. I'm an orphan. My parents died a few months ago and I was sent to this hell hole.

If my mother is watching me from above or where ever dead people go, I hope she's proud. I'm that strong child she always wanted.

At a time my family was my back bone. As soon as they died they became the knife in my back. And boy that knife is twisted. Sharp at both ends with ridges that pierce even the thickest of skins. Now that my back bone was gone I was an easy target of the demon that lives within us. All of us. We have a demon, he visits our dreams and hunts us until he's ready for the kill.

No one say it coming. Not even I.

When couples come to the orphanage to adopt I'm ignored. But I don't blame them. Who wants a broken, scarred, young woman? They past me with faces of disgust. Atleast that's what I think. Paranoid much, I guess.

5 for my old life.
4 for my parents.
3 for my brother.
2 for myself.
1 for the demon inside of me.