She sat staring straight ahead. It would only take a minute, she knew. Everything was done. The letters were written; the journals completed. She sighed and picked up the knife. You can do it Brooke, the girl told herself. She turned the knife over in her hand and held it to her wrist. With a quick flash of movement she slit her wrist. She let out a squeak of pain and collapsed to the floor. She had hit the vain she had wanted to. Her wrist began to gush blood onto her mother’s clean white tile kitchen floor. Brooke groaned as her black hair spread around her. She watched the deep red pour onto the floor. She felt herself getting light headed. Yes finally it’ll all end soon, she thought. She finally felt herself slipping. She cut deeper into the vain and smiled as pain went through her arm. Goodbye world. That was Brooke Mitchell’s last thought.
YOU ARE READING
The Letters and Journals of Brooke Mitchell
Teen FictionWhat would you do if you walked over to you best friend's house planning to surprise her, and found her dead on her kitchen floor. How would you feel if you knew you were the cause of her death? How would you feel if she wrote you letter and told y...
