Sweet Dead Sixteen

Chapter 3

I threw my backpack onto the antique armchair and walked briskly into the kitchen to get a snack. After all I had not eaten anything for lunch. I was famished. My mother was sitting at the table doing paper work on her day off. She took one look at my face and started grilling me with questions. I answered sarcastically, “Oh I just fell on my face not once, but two times today during school. Nothing to worry about.” Then I broke down crying, and she rushed to comfort me. I slowly told her my awful day between sobs and sniffles.

We had an average meal, none of my favorites. Normally my mother would prepare something delicious and grand for my birthday, but all we had was packaged macaroni and cheese. I waved it off and began anticipating cake and presents instead. It was getting late and we were sitting in the living room watching TV. I had just begun to wonder if she had forgotten when she turned off the TV and told me it was time for bed. I abruptly rose off the couch and screeched, “You forgot didn’t you?! How could you? I’m your only daughter!”

Her face filled with shame, “Honey, I am so very sorry. I was just so busy with my medical papers today, it totally slipped my mind!”

Before she could finish I was already racing up the stairs to my room. I flung myself onto my canopy bed and wept until my face was red and puffy.

How could my own mother forget my birthday? Was I totally invisible to the world? Did I have no meaning at all? A strange feeling came to my mind; I felt I needed to get out all the anger and sadness. I wanted to punish my mother by doing something rebellious. I opened my nightstand drawer and pulled out a shiny never-before-used pocket knife. I had heard of girls doing this before but never really had given any thought to actually doing it. If everyone at school hated me so much, then I did too. I placed the blade on my wrist; I didn’t know if I had the guts to do it.

The scene from the lunch room flashed into my head, and what happened at the track… So much HATE. I looked down at my wrist and gasped at the bleeding horizontal cut. It was much deeper than I had realized I was capable of. I felt a smile spreading across my face; I was losing it. My mother’s guilt stricken face popped into my mind; she obviously felt her work was more important than me, and I remember how my father left us six years ago—I guess I wasn’t important enough for him to stay. I slowly moved the blade to my other wrist. The world didn’t really need me, did it? I dragged the knife through my flesh. I choked back a sob, it was done. As my blood trickled down my wrists, so did all my emotions. I dropped the knife and fell back onto my pillow.

Fifteen minutes passed and my head began to feel fuzzy. The room began to spin, I blinked twice. I noticed my breathing getting slower and my vision was fading. No, no, no, no; I can’t fall asleep! My heart was pounding in my head, a warning sign that I was dangerously close to fainting. The pounding slowed and darkness crept into my head. My vision faded completely and I slipped away.

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