A Little Too Much

"Drowning Deep Inside Your Waters"

Sorry this story is so terrible, I'll probably delete this like I did all the others. I doubt anyone saw this

My whole 'ordeal' began when my mother, Vivian Delilah Sallow, got sick. Deathly sick. A sickness with medicine her body was allergic to, which made it that much worse.... just that much. With no treatment, Vivian began to wither away. I got a letter... three hours before she flatlined. It went like this;

Dear Lilyana,
My dear baby. You're only seven right now, but so much has happened to you. Zuri is only 13, so cut her some slack- but make sure your father is the one in charge (As she was dying, no one had the heart to tell her Da was dead..). I love you dearly and hope, some day, you will grow to become the best Lily the world has ever known. Never forget your limits, though. Don't overwork, if you do, all your progress is for nothing. Yes spend time on anything you need to work on, yes give it your all, but don't be that kid that has to down seven shots of espresso each morning to stay awake. Yes I am referring to college and high school. But please Lily, do me proud, but do yourself proud as well
                                                                      With love,
                                                                                        Mum.

Zuri had a similar letter lying upon our oak table that one day. Nobody except the doctors knew both our parents were dead. Soon, Zuri and I began working after school to gain money to pay for food. As it was convenient, both of us used water from the fresh wood spring behind our country home. We bought only necessary foods, maybe a treat from time to time, but normally.... we were hungry. The day Mum died, I weighed 72 pounds. Four months after, 61. I'd dropped 11 pounds in 4 months, as a child. Yes it isn't great, it isn't catastrophic, but hell yes- it is scary. To wake up and smile at everyone until you look in the mirror. To watch your joy just slide off your face, watch the way your muscles tensed and face scrunched up to withhold rivers of salty tears. You'd turn to the side and slowly lift your shirt. In the mirror, you could see half the closet behind you. Four months earlier, all you'd see was smooth skin. After four months, your skin was anything but smooth. Your stomach was lined with scars and scratches from moments of anger. Moments of sadness. Moments of hopelessness. Moments of "I wanna be like them, I wanna be them." No. You can't be like them. You. Are. Better. Than. Them. Trust me, nothing you say.. nothing you do, nothing you eat, nothing you pretend to be, will ever make you like them. Or so I hope..

My only hope is that soon your realise your mistake. That scratching at your wrists and legs and stomach never will help. Learn this early. Obviously I failed that lesson... I wasn't even at 'school' that day. I was on that cool floor, scratching and stabbing, the blade I was using, covered in my blood. In the Chronicles Of Narnia, Rabadash says spill as little Narnian blood as possible, try to keep war deep in the archives of our minds. Of course, I could fill the blood limit everyday, just give me the knife, and turn away. My breath came slightly ragged as I lay in bed, thinking of that letter, thinking of that lesson I'll never learn, thinking of those words that could've meant everything yet nothing to someone...