A Call for Help

Prologue

Samantha looked around at the people around her. The one that stood directly on front of her had black hair combed in the "cool kids" stereotyped way. He wore one of those shirts that advertise themselves on the shirt in big letters.
Samantha had long dark hair down to her shoulders, and deep brown eyes. Her clothes were faded, old hand-me-downs and free stuff from yard sales. Her mother couldn't afford a book bag. She was thin from lack of nutrition, her bones visible in some places. She always had this look of sadness or fear. She was also pale, not matching her hair at all.
The boy in front pushed her down. Her books fell from her hands hitting the floor. They walked away laughing and kicking her books around the hall. Nobody bothered to help and kept walking like nothing had happened. Even the teachers did nothing.
After picking up the rest of her things, she went home like all the other students were. The walk home was dangerous, but her mother was always at work and God knew where her father was. Oh wait, there is no god, she thought angrily.
She when she got home went to get something to eat. She hadn't had lunch money today. It was taken as usual. She went into the kitchen and looked around for food. A piece of bread, almost spoiled milk, expired ham burgers. Great.
She walked to her room to start on her homework. Samantha couldn't focus Then, for about the millionth time, she cried. At first she held it silently, falling onto her bed and curling up. Then the sobs began to sound out. The tears rolled down her cheeks and dropping off her chin.
After a long time of crying, she calmed down, stopping her quick and shaky breathing. She began to work on her homework, wiping tears from her face.
After a while, Samantha realized how it was late getting. She put away her school work and got cloths for a shower, knowing the water would be cold. She grabbed a pocket knife. Samantha looked at the cuts she already had. She counted silently, remembering each day she'd made the cuts.
She started the water first out of habit. Then she stood and looked in the mirror. The bottom right was broken out and another crack went across the middle. She looked down at her arms again. She pushed her long sleeve back, showing the unmarked skin farther up her arm.
The blade touched her and she closed her eyes. Even now she couldn't watch herself make the cut, only watch the cut bleed.
She didn't cut her arm today, no. Today she'd finally had it. For years she's been depressed and bullied and starved.
The basic red pocket knife left her arm, and went to her throat. She felt her that funny feeling in your nose telling her she was going to cry. She closed her eyes, stilling feeling the blade, knowing it was their. A tear escapes her eye.

She pulled the blade. It stung and became hard to focus on any one thing. Her eyes swam with tears, her brain panicking. This is it, she thought as her vision darkened, I'm dying. Then she slipped into the sweet abyss.