• Suicide

    She picked up her knife and slowly dragged it across the tender flesh of her arm, watching as her blood slowly trailed down in rivulets over her wrist where it finally fell into the sink, turning the clear water a light pink that grew darker with every drop.


    This was her ritual. She did this every night without fail. As yet, nobody knew, and nobody would find out. No one had ever questioned why she never wore clothing with shorter sleeves, not even her parents. For the past three years she had done with this and she would continue to do so.

    Eventually, she drained the blood stained water from the basin. She cleaned out the residue left in the sink, clearing the pale pink stains from the pure whiteness of the sink. Once this task was completed she methodically combed her ebony hair and then proceeded to wrap her arm up before pulling the sleeve of her jumper down and going to her bedroom, her sanctuary.

    She entered the room, bypassing the pile of clothing on the floor beside her door and moving to her unmade bed. She lay on her bed, cuddling an old, ragged pink teddy bear and stared up at her ceiling, listening to the argument downstairs between her parents. She closed her eyes tightly and pulled the cover over her head just like she had done as a child when she had been frightened of something in the shadows. The curses her parents threw at one another began to fade until finally, sleep takes her away and the sounds of yelling are not heard, at least until she awakes once more.

    2

    It was night once more and it was time for her ritual. Tonight though would be different. This was the last time she would be partaking in this nightly routine. For this night she would end it.

    She turned on the faucet for the bath, letting the water flow into the bath. When it was partway full she turned the water down until it was only a trickle and put her knife on the edge of the bath, as well as a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Then she slowly undressed so that she was in nothing more than a bra and her underwear and stepped into the steaming water.

    She lay down, submerging herself from the chest down. She then picked up her knife admiring it for a moment. It was a relatively small blade, but it was sharp. She had bought it a year ago, finally sick of sneaking knives from the kitchen. She had chosen it after she had been attracted to the delicate roses that formed the handle of the blade and so she had bought it. She turned the blade once more in her hands and then set it down again, exchanging it for the bottle of pills. She had told her doctor she was having trouble sleeping and he had given her the prescription. She unscrewed the cap and tilted her head back, quickly swallowing several of the pills. She repeated this process once more until she was sure she had taken enough.

    Once she had done that part she took up her faithful knife. Before she began to cut she traced over the old scars and still healing cuts that covered her arms. Then she pressed the blade into the soft, yielding flesh of her wrist and pulled the knife along in a downward stroke. She slowly went over the wound several more times, stopping before her hand became too weak to finish, then moved to her other wrist and repeated the action. She lowered her arms into the now tepid water, hissing slightly as the water hit the wounds.

    She lay like that for some time, and as she did she thought of why she was doing this. Her parents were too busy fighting and arguing to give her a second thought. She was not angry about this though, it was more of an ache within her heart that never left her. She wanted it to go away, and this was how she would do it. She was in no rush though; she had never been one to rush things. She was always quiet; she had never really been accepted because of this. Those she had gone to school with didn’t tease or torment her though, they just ignored her. The only person who didn’t ignore her was herself and because of this, she took time to do things for herself so they were done well. Perhaps that was why she was so methodical about this. Others may ignore her death, but she would take the time to do it properly, and that meant she would not rush.

    She began to feel cold and started to shudder. She didn’t feel any of this though as she had already lost consciousness. Soon to surrendered to death. Her body was pale and her lips had lost all colour. Her dark eyes were rolled back, the lids half closed over them. She lay still in the bathtub, water red with her blood.