The Stories of the Sufferers

IT'S THAT TIME OF THE MONTH

Vina ran to the bathroom, bumping into several high school occupants while doing so. She may be late to class. It was that time again. The period. She had borrowed a pad from her friend, Raven. When she entered the stall, Vina ripped the pad open and lined it on her bloody underwear. She finished the rest of her affair and yanked up her pants. The pad felt uncomfortable down there, most likely because the brand and type was not one she used. Oh, well.

During her second class, Vina felt as if her blood flow was unusually heavy. For the past five years of torture, her flow was alright. She only required three pads maximum to last the entire day. Now, at sixteen, she may be experiencing a drastic change in her monthly experience.

Lunch came along, and Vina had already swapped her pad once. Disconcerting thoughts of her ovaries kept her tense. The color of the blood was a deep, dark red, and it appeared foreboding. She had requested another pad from her friend.

"Sure, I'll give you a few if you want," replied Raven.

Next, in the restrooms, Vina momentarily treasured feeling a free stomach. No clothing was enclasping the area. With her black jeans on, it worsened the cramps. Vina then exited the bathroom and climbed the stairs to her fourth-hour class. In this period, her uneasiness escalated. She tried to complete her coding exercise but failed in doing so. When the clock hit 12:10 PM, she ditched her two friends and went back to the stall, only to find her pad congested.

Vina began feeling queasy. Her fair skin paled and her smooth hands shriveled. Her past thoughts returned. What if her blood was not coming from the egg? What if her blood was being drained from other parts of her body? What if...?

No, it was impossible. Such things do not occur. But Vina still doubted the real (or what resembled to be realistic) and pondered the supernatural. Her uterus felt like one was thrusting a few needles in and out of her insides, but not quite out of the body. Her hands clutched around her thin midsection, and she leaned against the table. The poor bitch missed half of her review on the semester exam.

To reach her last class, Vina had to mount the stairs once more. Her aim was to go into the classroom, tell Mr. Love she needed a visit to the nurse ("girl stuff"), and make her way there. She was more on the obedient, ideal student side.

However, she had trouble only going up the stairs. Halfway there, she decided to make it to the top. She will descend using the elevator. Oh shit, she could have gone into the elevator. She weakly stumbled to the top and turned next door to the correct location. There, she attempted to execute her plan.

"Can I... go to... the nurse's office," she panted, interrupting the biology teacher. He was speaking to a student named James. "Girl stuff... you know."

"Oh no, Vina, are you okay?" James asked.

Vina shook her head feebly.

The concerned Mr. Love wore a concerned expression. "Okay, go to the nurse. I'll write you a pass. Here, maybe James here can give you a hand if you need it."

Longhaired James hurried to Vina. "I'll help you. Do you need help walking?"

Vina slowly nodded her head. Mr. Love handed her the pass.

"Here. Feel better, okay?"

They did not make it to the door.

Vina collapsed onto the hard floor, blood trickling down her purple legs. Her breathing intensified, and her skin and lips transformed into blue color. Her stomach was searing with pain; the feeling of one hundred needles plunging in and out of her organs. Vina's darkened jeans dripped with rich blood, and it was not planning on ceasing. Steadily, her arms became clammy. Her lungs heated with flames. Her skin looked wrinkly all over, except for the upper body. It did not remain like that for long.

The pad continued to bleed the blood from Vina. It absolutely loved causing pain and suffering. Its job as an absorbent served uselessly.

The classmates entering the room screamed at the scene. Unconscious Vina was sprawled onto the floor. Bloodloss and shit, you know. James found the source of where the blood departed. He did not dare try to cover it. It did not matter anyway, for the blood would still flow.

Vina's body was purple, limp, and wrinkly. The touch of her skin would produce a wince and a retreat of the hand. Instead of looking like a teenaged Latina, she looked like a ninety-year-old ghost.

Her breathing diminished until there was none.

James placed his hand over her pulse, his hands sunk deep into her crinkled, discolored neck. No pulse.

Time of death: 1:25 PM.

So, that's it fuckers. I feel like this isn't as good as my other stories. What do you guys think? Don't forget to vote!