The Girl with the flower crown

                                                             The Girl with the Flower Crown   

Daphne Charm rummaged under her cabinet for anything that could break the surface, or go deeper into the skin. She mentally cursed as today was the day her parents committed suicide together.

What is even worse is that they didn't think that the daughter they loved very much would have to see the lifeless bodies.   

She had no problem remembering their bodies laying in the bed with the pill bottle that they once were grasping firmly.   

Daphne was only nine when she had to see the horrifying incident. Being as she was only nine, she had no idea what was happening, or why were her parents being taken away from her.  

She had shaken her mother's body several times. No response. She rocked her father's body with determination and wishfulness. But he was as  limp as her mother. The little nine year old Daphne felt all hope disappear, replaced by fear and despair.   

Why could she breathe but her parents' were taken away from them? Why?  

She felt worthless as she helplessly wailed her lost. Her tears blurred her view but she still cried, as if crying enough would bring her parents back.  

Looking back at the past, Daphne could tell that it was so stupid to think such but every year, she still cries a waterfall.  

She could remember the funeral which was held a few days later.  

Her aunt had taken full custody over her a few days before when, in a hysterical sadness, Daphne called her.   

The day of the funeral was an appalling day as the living remainder of her family talked about how much her parents will be missed. Little Daphne, in her black dress, did the same things she did when she found Mr. and Mrs, Charm - sit there and helplessly cried; she still remembered it all too well. Even eight years later, she remembers it like it was yesterday.   

The two open caskets sat in front of her, reminding her of her lost. The podium in between the tombs held the priest. She couldnt let go of her sadness long enough to listen to the heartfelt word being said.  

The next day everybody hated her telling her she was the cause of her parents death; the little Daphne she once knew would grown too fast.   

Now, in her small bathroom, Daphne grabbed an unused razor and picked up the butter knife in her other hand. She guided the tip of the knife between the blades as she began to pry it open. In seconds the razor was apart and the blades sat on the counter as she stared them down. Her intention wasn't to try to stop; she just told people she did, but in her heart she knew she would never and she didn't ever want to stop.  

The teen closed the bathroom door, even though she was alone. Her fingers skillfully scooped up the blades as she sat on the closed toilet she held her arm over the floor and she held the razors with her right index finger and thumb.   

It came natural to her. This routine was one that she was accustomed to.   Everything she did, she had a reason. Especially this. Each new wound had a purpose, served as a reminder. The words etched into her mind like the scars on her wrist - old and new.  

1. "You are the cause of your parents death, they couldn't handle you." SWIPE!    Blood slowly trickled out as she let it drip onto the floor. The girl felt satisfied at the reaction she emitted from her arm, but she wasn't done.  

2."All you are is an ugly whore!" SWIPE!   

3. "Can't you see? No matter how hard you try, you'll never be good enough! Never!" SWIPE!   

4."You could've saved her; your only aunt, yet you didn't! You're such a selfish bitch!" SWIPE!   

5. "Nobody likes you. Everybody can't do anything but hate you!". SWIPE!    

She watched as the pure red blood dripped onto the floor, finally  making her feel like... alive.   

A tear ran down her cheek and as she bitterly wiped it off, she couldn't help but think that she did this to herself. She deserved this.  It was her fault.    If only she made a different choice...   If only she wasn't blind....   If only she wasn't so pathetic...   If only...  

The tear hadn't come from physical pain. No. Not at all. It had come from the emotional pain that she tried her best to hide. Particularly from everyone, but she knows that she can't run from her own demons.

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(The description under "manage" was written by the lovely @DMBradelyWhittaker. She also helped me edit and write this chapter. So I give her full credit as she wanted)