war zone / one-shots+poems

Blade

TRIGGERS: SUICIDE, SELF-HARM.

The blade beside the sink was taunting her.

I'm here, it said.

She rested her head in her hands, trying to ignore it.

Can you feel me?

The blade cut through to her, even though she could no longer see it.

Do you see me?

She heard the tormenting. It was telling her to do something she had promised to never do again.

You know you want to.

She could hear her parents yelling at each other in the kitchen, but the blade drowned them out.

It'll feel good.

She shook her head, desperately trying to ignore it.

It'll make you feel better.

She didn't want to listen to it, but she could feel herself being persuaded.

The pain will go away.

The pull in her stomach grew with each passing moment, begging her to pick up the blade.

The pain will stop.

She opened her eyes and looked at it, a menacing, shining silver against the white sink.

I'll take care of you, it said.

"No." she whispered.

I'll make you feel better.

"No,"

Just once...

The girl stood up, took a step towards it.

That's it.

She picked up the blade and pulled up her sleeve.

Do it.

Thick red blood dripped into the sink, staining the white marble with crimson drops.

Again.

She did it again, because the blade told her to. It said;

Don't you feel better?

She closed her eyes, letting a tear trickle onto her cheek.

Isn't the pain gone?

"No," she whispered again, because it wasn't gone. It was worse, physical as well as mental.

Why don't you do it again?

And so she did. And this time, it did make her feel better.

Do it more often.

Tear streaked her cheeks, a sob wracking her body.

Don't cry.

The blade was still speaking to her. She threw it across the room with a cry of frustration.

You can't get rid of me that easily.

The girl broke down, falling to her knees. She was a clock that had stopped ticking.

Come on.

She couldn't ignore it, not when she was still bleeding.

Do it.

The blade was cold and slippery with redness when she picked it up again.

One cut and you'll be free forever.

She hesitated for a moment, the silver pressed against the soft skin of her wrist.

Die.

And so she did, tears on her cheeks and a bloody blade in her hand.

The blade was silent then.

It was silent when the girl's mother opened the door and found her, blood puddled on the floor.

It was silent when the paramedics arrived and took the girl's body away.

It had always been silent. It had been silent when the girl had imagined it telling her to cut herself, when she had heard the sound of nothing and created a voice in her head.

It had been silent when she killed herself.