The Nameless Girl

One

"They look at me as if I am a psychopath. Of course, I probably am a psychopath."

"Fucking waste."

That's all she hears when she travels through the busy halls at school. They act as if she is pure vapour, and as soon as she makes a sudden movement or even so much as breathes heavily, they'll jump at the chance to attack her. She struggles with her image. She's always putting on a tough exterior to display to the world when on the inside, she just wants to pull the trigger. She wants to step off of the bucket and swing back and forth from the big oak tree in her backyard. She fantasizes about dropping herself off of a cliff at Mount Soraya. It's only a mile from town, and it's so jagged that they probably would never find her body.

She licks her lips at these thoughts. They're so appetizing, but she knows that she will never do it.

"Worthless." she whispers at herself in the mirror.

As her hand rises off of her dresser top, the drawers begin to open. In each she has hidden her darkest secrets and most personal belongings.

Drawer number one contains a jar of razor blades and a one litre jug of bleach. The razor blades are her closest friends, always there to keep her pain to the minimum. Sometimes she torments herself with them, quickly rubbing bleach into the deep cuts in her thighs and forearms.

Drawer number two is her absolute favourite. It's always locked, but when it is released from its lock, a world of self loath is unleashed. Her diary is exposed, beginning on page fifteen;

'But the personal struggles of one shall not affect those whom gave the individual life.'

Lies.

The containments of the diary are vividly written, blood soaked, and retched. She knows that they'll send her to the ward again if they uncover her secret book. She cannot go back. The last time she was there, she fell into an even deeper depression, eventually ripping out her hair and jumping from the front patio. Her left leg was crushed beneath her weight mixed with the impact of the twenty foot fall, and her hair didn't properly grow back for a full year. Of course, she was fourteen then, and nearly four years have passed since the events have occurred.

Finally the third drawer flies open and tips over. The short noose and her favourite revolver spill to the floor. In her head, the revolver's potential future seems like a vacation for her. Her fingers fondle the trigger, the safe guard is clicked off, and she presses the barrel against her temple. It would be so easy, she thinks constantly, but her attention quickly turns back to the noose.

What a classic way to go out. A good old jump from a tree with the rope tied around her throat would do it. It would probably break her neck, so the chance of death is inevitable.

"I can do it one day." she whispers once again, closing her drawers and staring back up at her dark eyes.

Her eyes scan the room and land on a glass picture frame filled with photographs of her and her friends and family. She would display them to show people how happy she was, but that all came to an end when they all turned on her after discovering her self harm. Her mother and older brother sent her to live with her crazy aunt Louise and Louise's third husband Manuel once her stay in the ward was over.

All her friends hated her, bullying her for everything she did. How does a girl who was once so popular and beloved turn into such an outcast?

As her eyes focus on the picture frame, she raises a finger and it unhooks from the wall. She squints, the frame moving closer to her. Her hand drops to her side. The images hover in front of her face, taunting her and creating a deep scream to rise from her throat. The frame shoots across the room, smashing into thousand of pieces.

Once her gaze lands on the floor, a smile creeps onto her face.

They call her the Nameless Girl.