To Be Honest

Short Story #7

Sitting there awake at 1AM, confused. You don't know what's reality and what's not. You're heart is pumping and tears are falling, slowly. The knife is your hand and you really don't want to do it. You bite your lip and silently release a scream, a whimper. It's taking all of you not to move the knife closer to your body. You starting shaking and your thoughts start to overpower you. You clench the knife so hard it starts to hurt. It feels almost... good. You shake these thoughts away and you start to think that its the only way to take the pain away. That you deserve it. Tears begin to fall more quickly and your vision gets blurry. You wipe your tears and let out another silent whimper. "Not this time," you say to yourself over and over again. You want to believe it but you just can't, and just like that you lost your battle. You bring the knife to your wrist. The cold, icy metal hits your skin, causing goosebumps. You begin to make small incisive cuts. The more you start to think you deserve this, the deeper and deeper they get. Blood starts to pour from your limp wrist and you sit there, satifised. Satifised with the fact you believe that you deserved it. You wanted it to be over and its over. They won.