Deranged

There was once a girl named Sierra. She was raised in a world where you had to learn everything by yourself.

Even if you were curious, the truth won't come to you wholly. You'd need your own effort.

_

When she was seven years of age, she grew curious as to why only her mother was there. And when Sierra asked her mother, she dismissed her; saying that her father was long gone and in heaven. She accepted whatever answer she could get, so she just didn't mind.

Eventually, her 11th birthday came up. She was so excited, her whole body was tingling with happiness. And then, she thought of asking her mother about throwing a party or something. Just the two of them, since she was home-schooled all the years in her life. She thought about maybe going to the mall, or just walking around the local park while eating ice cream.

Anything could happen and it would still be fun for her.

She walked out of her room, excitement found in every fibre of her body.

Once her palm was pressed unto the door and about to push it wider, she heard her mother laughing. Curiosity struck her, so she, as silently as she could, pushed the door a little bit wider. Looking won't hurt, she thought.

Or maybe it would.

There, on the bedroom floor, her mother was seated cross-legged, slashing her wrists while laughing. First, Sierra was shocked, but then a thought struck her: maybe doing that would be fun.

She left the bedroom door ajar, and walked bouncily to the bathroom down the hall. There she found a blade in one of the drawers. She inspected it and tilted it to the side; causing the blade to reflect light. That reflection caught her attention. She then realized that she'd always loved shimmering things.

A smile made its way to her face and that bright smile was kept until she was inside her now locked-up bedroom.

Before putting the blade on her skin, she wasn't sure if she would do it or not... But all it took was a voice inside of her head to convince her.

She positioned the blade on her wrist, applying a little bit of pressure, but enough to cut through her flawless skin. She carefully watched with amazement as a little amount of blood dripped all the way down to the pyjamas she was wearing. Then she realized that cherry red was her favorite color.

This isn't really bad. It's really fun. She thought to herself as the bright smile on her face became even brighter.

This newfound hobby continued on for months and months.

Whenever she didn't have any home or school work, she would lock herself up in her room and put a small cut to her left wrist, and would happily watch the cherry red color drip out of her skin. Sometimes, she would even squeeze the cut part of her skin just to watch more blood drip out.

While entertaining herself, she thought of her father, once again.

She quickly got off of her bed and tossed the blade in her bedside table, hastily covering the new wound on her wrist with a band aid.

She ran to her mother's room and entered quickly; only to find her sleeping on the bed with the duvet over her body, up to her chin as she snored lightly.

Sierra sighed and was disappointed at herself because she never had the right timing.

She trudged to her room and closed the door. She laid down on her bed, above the sheets, and stared at ceiling; and then she started doubting her mother's answers to the questions she'd incessantly asked.

Every night, before going to bed, she would run her fingertips over the small bandages on her skin; imagining how life would be if her father was there.

She thought about going to school, making friends, attending parties, having fun, and meeting someone who she could love... and would hopefully love her.

Her eyes would droop in exhaustion, but she fought against it; wanting to think more about her future, and what it might be.

And with her imagination, she pictured every little scene in her mind, and it would bring a graceful smile to her face; finally letting herself sleep because she felt motivated to make her imaginations come true.

Three years later, when she turned fourteen, her one question still wasn't answered. It may be answered, but she was still doubtful. So doubtful that she already questioned her mother's honesty towards her.

That night, quarter to twelve in the morning, she walked to her mother's bedroom.

Seeing that it was already unlocked, she pushed it open and found her mother fast asleep... But the only difference this time, was that she had her phone in hand, its brightness lighting up the dark room.

Sierra walked with caution, not wanting to wake her mother up. Once close enough, she slowly got the phone from her mother's open palm; her eyes inspecting her mother to see if there's a sign that she was awake. There was none, so she averted her gaze to the phone.

On the screen, was a picture. A family picture. Their family picture.

She knew it was theirs because she recognized her mother's face.

Her whole attention was on the man beside her mother. That's him. That's my father. She thought, but suddenly asked herself... Where is he?

A text notification popped up on the top of the screen. She opened it up. And that answered her question.

But she kind of wished that it didn't.

It was another family picture. But not their family picture anymore. Yes, her father was in that picture, but the woman and child beside him was different. The woman was not her mother; nor the child, her.

As Sierra walked back towards her room, she didn't know what to feel.

Her question was answered. Shouldn't she be happy?

But that's not it.

Her question might be answered, but not in the way she was expecting it to be. And as the clock struck midnight, she came to a realization that her mother slashed her wrists not for entertainment and fun, but because she was hurting. And the laugh? That laugh may be called a laugh, but it was empty. And that laugh didn't signify humor.

She realized that her mother was fake happy.

Her oceanic blue eyes trailed down to stare at her wrist that was covered with numerous bandages.

She'd been doing it for three years to entertain herself. If she did it again tomorrow, would it still be for entertainment?

Nobody knows.