AngelScars

This is my story. Some parts are exagerated a bit.

This story is copy righted.

Chapter One: Painfully Quiet

Be quiet. Throw the little box up on your bed and don't let it rattle. Remember, Mamma is in the room accross the hall. She cannot find out again. Climb up the latter and don't shake the bed.

Your pillow is soft, the cloth dries your face. You've been fighting with the mirror again. What's in the box?  The ripped up purple sock is the only thing you can see through the clear lid. With watering eyes you lfit the lid and put the trashed sock behind you.

Momma's found this box before. The day you moved, she went to pack your pillow. When she took off the case, you know what she found? A little black box with a clear lid looking into a brand new purple sock. You told her, when she heard it rattle, that they were earings for your friend's birthday. She beleived you.

Every time you are sitting on your bed with that little black box, you remember that. You remember how scared you were that she would open it. You remember the very first time you did it. You didn't even have the box.

All the pain you felt inside, everything you kept bundled up, you let it out for the first time, on your wrist.

Now you have that little black box, again, up on your bed. Now that the sock is out of the way. You see them, you see them stained with dried blood, and haunting your memory and your skin.

No. You are strong. You can do it, you can put them away and go to sleep.

No you can't, because right now a razor accross your wrist or stomach or thighs is really the only thing that will help you right now.

You are alone, you are trapped in the label society has given you. Cliche' but true. Cartoon shows sing, "Hey girl you think your style is unique, but truth is you're just another Emo freak."

Great message to send to kids. Yeah, the teens you look up to are freaks. They are freaks why, because they have a different way of coping with the shit life throws at them, because they dress differently and wear black make-up. Cool, you would much rather be a freak then be society's drone. 

There are tears running down your face again. This little box has brought releif but with only the sting of razors.  What's it gonna be tonight?

Left Wrist:

One cut

Two cuts

Three cuts

Four...