Contest Entries

Contest-Girl #17

7:35 AM

I look into the mirror and stare at myself for a moment, the morning sunlight filling the room. I scan the reflection of my bone-thin body with my eyes, ending at my face. I have no muscles. I'm tall, but I'll never be tall enough. I stare into my own flawed, brownish-green eyes, then quickly notice everything else wrong about myself again. My nose sticks out too much, my bottom lip is too big, my dark brown hair is too messy, and my face is dotted with pimples that I've tried to scrub off until my entire face bled, which only made it worse. My skin is a ghostly white that makes me look dead, and I wish I was. She could never love this. I avert my gaze as a silent tear seeps out of my left eye. I can't look anymore. Sadness permeates me as I walk out of the bathroom, brushing the tear off my face as I walk.

I go up the steps to my room slowly. I then walk over to my bed. My glasses are on the small nightstand beside it. They're filthy, of course. I pick them up, along with my phone. There aren't any messages on it, which is to be expected. I put it in my pocket and walk downstairs. After reaching the bottom of the staircase, my mother says, "Good morning."

"Good morning," I reply, even though it certainly isn't a good morning. I run my glasses under the sink and wipe them down with dish soap to clean them. I then put them on, even though I look better without them. All. of my things are ready, except my lunch bag, which I pick up off the counter and put into my backpack. I grab it, then put my shoes on and walk out the door and get into my car. I guess it's off to hell for me.

11:40 AM

It's lunchtime, which is usually the first time I see her in the day. I'm watching her from across the large cafeteria. I can't decide if I want her to notice me or not. She's absolutely beautiful, with her long brown hair flowing flawlessly past her shoulders and her deep green eyes that I wish I could drown in. Her face is adorable and soft, her skin pale and precious. Everything about her is gorgeous. She defines perfection in my eyes, which have never seen anyone else the same way, and most likely never will.

She turns her lovely head to look at a boy, who then sits next to her. He was one of my closest friends once. I stopped believing in the concept of having a singular best friend because of them. They considered themselves best friends, even though I had known him longer and thought he was mine before either of us ever met her. I denounced the idea because I knew what it was like to be nothing more than a spare, and I would never make anyone else feel that pain.

I distanced myself from them both over the course of the last year. She doesn't know it anymore, but I still worship her. I long to be in her arms as I watch her. I want her to hold me in her warm embrace and call me hers, but I was never enough for her. There was always someone who had more, someone more attractive, someone better. Pain is shooting through me and my thoughts are spiraling down an abyss of self-hatred and despair.

She gets up out of her chair, along with the rest of the people at her table. I press my fingers to my cheek, feeling a hot, wet patch. I hadn't even realized I had been crying. I pocket my pain and save it for later as I wipe the tears from my face with my sleeve and stand. I then walk out of the cafeteria with swiftness in my step, not wasting any time getting to my next class.

9:00 PM

I'm in a small room in my basement, crying with my face pressed into the cold tile floor. I've been this way for hours now. She doesn't want me, and she never did. Even when she had me and she knew it, everything she said was a lie. Every time she said she cared, she was lying. Every time she comforted me, she was lying. I've always been nothing to her.

I push myself up with my arms, sobbing as I get on my feet. I grab the staples I found in a classroom and pull my sleeve up, running them down my upper arm. They either aren't sharp enough, or I'm not applying enough force. I do the same thing but harder, and still get no blood. I then pick up a tape container and shove the blade deep into my skin, pushing through until I see the red liquid gush from the crevice in my arm. It hurts, but the pain feels better than anything else. I pull the blade away, watching the blood drip down my arm and off my fingers, onto the floor. I'm crying and laughing simultaneously, falling to my knees as I try to wipe the tears away, only to smear blood across my face. I thrust my upper body back onto the tiles and slide the blade down my arm.

Pain is what I deserve. That's what being with her taught me. Someone else gets all of the good things while I get pain, because I'm not good enough to be loved. She'll never appreciate me. She'll never want me, because she never cared. I'll never truly be hers again. She doesn't need me anymore, she found someone better. It's all hitting me, tearing me apart, killing me slowly. She's killing me, but she'll never face that fact. She'll never come back to save me.