A Hard Fall ( Josh Hutcherson)

Crossing the road.

Allison's POV:

Josh didn't sleep in my room that night. He slept with Connor in the living room. I laid in my bed, and started to feel horrible. I haven't texted my friends for a while, too. But its almost midnight now. They are asleep.

I was thinking about them. They are amazing girls, but don't see it. Three of them cut, which I don't think I can take a while longer. I try to tell them that there is no point in harming a butterfly. Like dipping its wings in water, so it can't fly for a long amount of time. Sometimes you just keep the butterfly wet, but I want them to fly, to go free and happy, probably with injuries, but happiness all the same. I'm probably not any of their first choices anyway. So it doesn't really matter. Whatever, I have just been so stressed on how to convince them, tell them they are beautiful, but they won't listen. And I'm starting to feel the same way. At school I hadn't been getting much attention, and now Josh is avoiding me. He just got here, too. I don't even know why I am so sad. I think I want to pull out a blade. I feel like I need to.

I grabbed my pencil sharpener from my bag, and unscrewed the top, so the blade made a cling. On the floor. I grabbed the small metal piece and sat on the ground, the plastic next to my feet, and looked down at my hands. They were tiny, and I had skinny little wrists. My fingers were ugly, bitten down to stubs. I had always done that, bitten my nails. Since I was 4, and now I'm 16. I thought about dragging that little square of silver across my arm, and my eyes started getting blurry with tears. But none the less, I grabbed the blade, the tears fell down my face, like icy, hard hail, and drew it across my skin, for the first time.

But,

Instead of feeling like curling up in a ball screaming, it felt good. It was like burning across my skin, and it felt punishing, but I deserved it. I went for five, six, seven, tears across my white smooth skin. The blood was like a splash of color to my pale body. Little drops, and some streaks, it felt like I was painting, and I stopped. After I sat there, I started to realize, no artist would paint this. I look down again, and I realize that my arm has turned red, no streaks or drips, not artistic at all, just a big patch of red.

A sharp sob ecsaped my lips, louder than I intended, and I started to fiercly scrape and scratch at my skin. It was ugly. I was weak. Look at me. Crying. Josh would have thought it was weak too. I cried and scraped and snatched at my skin. I knew he didn't care about me anymore. I knew it. Maybe he never even did care.

Everything started to slip away, the puddle of blood at my feet into a deep blue ocean. Lulling me to sleep, and everything detached. Just me, and that stupid blade. I put it on the ground as my head bumped the tiles. Soaking the dark red liquid in my strawberry hair.