Scars, Tears and Unconventional Fears (On Hold)

Prologue

Once again I find myself thinking, if I had never chosen the decision to do what I did, this would never have happened. I should never have told my friends about myself. I should never have let my parents have suspicions about me, and I should never have gone anywhere near the razor. I'm sitting here, over the edge of my parents bathroom sink with tears running down my cheeks, with the blades of my cheap, old razor resting on my wrist. Thoughts keep going through my mind saying, you should never have done that, or, it never should have come to this. But of course everything in the past few weeks has led to this. The teasing, the bullying, the isolation, the death threats, everything. It gets me all depressed just thinking about it.

I stare at the large, square mirror hanging on the wall and see another person staring at me from the other side. Not just another person, another me. This is not the me that I was, it is the me that I have become. Society caused this, and they have taken it too far.

I stare at my reflection for a little while longer, and then I lower my head so I'm gazing at my wrist, criss-crossed with cuts and slices. Just like I said before, society caused this, stereotyping people because of how they act and react. All of these scars hold significance to me, and they prove a point. Maybe I wasn't needed in this world. Maybe I was never needed in this world. So without any other sense of selfishness, I let my arm fall, sharp pain searing across my wrist.

Rivers of scarlet started to run from the cut that the razor opened on my wrist. Rivers fell around my arm, and beads of red started raining on the pale tiled floor. I welcomed the pain, the sweet feel of the blood running across my hand and arm. But that isn't enough. That pain isn't enough to get these thoughts out of my mind. I need another way to keep the pain away, and only one option comes to my mind.

I raise my razor higher, resting it on the crook of my neck. This is the last straw, I thought. So I ripped the razor across my neck, opening a large gash. I let the razor fall from my hands, drop from leaning over the sink and plummet to the ground. I hit the ground with a thud, but I don’t notice any pain because I'm already gone.

My name is Brendan Smith, and this is my story.

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Hey, sorry that this sounds a little depressing, but this prologue just popped into my head and I had to write it down. Please comments below on what you think of it, and help me define the storyline on what's going to happen. Much appreciated :D <3