Different Colors (Phan)

Chapter Two

I run quickly to the boys' bathroom, locking myself into one of the dorms. I sank down to the ground, ending up sitting with my back to the wall. I drag up something from my pocket - a blade.

I smile weakly, and drag up my sleeve on my right arm, in thought that I'm left handed.
"Hello old friend.." I whisper and look at the little blade. My wrist was covered by red scars. Someone if them was even fading, but not to mention the cuts on top of them. I drag the blade carefully over my wrist, not going too deep. It doesn't hurt at all.
Every cut has a meaning - many, many because if myself, some because of the bullies. Every cut makes the situation slightly better.

Someone once told me that the cuts showed that I've found a better way to let out the pain, than death. But I think that's wrong. The cuts only memorize me how much I suck at life, how worthless I am to everybody.

When the cuts stop bleeding, I stand up, pull my sleeve carefully down to avoud making them bleed again. I walk slowly out of the dorm, finding myself alone in the boys' bathroom. I walk up to the mirror, leaning my hands at the desk, looking down in the sink.
"I'm worhtless."
I repeat it two or three times, then looking at myself in the mirror. I see a 6.3 ft tall boy with messy bown hair, and the most tired eyes ever. I take my hand through my hair, and stand properly up again.

I drag my earplugs up from my pocket, and connects it to my iPod. I stare empty out in the air as the beautiful rythms of The Light Behing Your Eyes by My Chemical Romance plays at almost full blast.