It's dark all around. A small box-like room. The walls are painted a light brown colour, and covered with posters of bands. Dark colours only. The room is very cluttered, and the small brown desk is covered with junk. Clothes all over the floor, not that there's much floor-space anyway, and the single bed against the wall has a brown and red dooner on it, all in a mess and with a slight odour coming from it. The one small window has a dark shade pulled down, and not much light is coming through. The light globe is a stingy yellow colour, and has no shade. Isn't very bright either. There are a few stains on the carpet, or at least on the parts that havn't been completely covered by stuff. The atmosphere in the room is the worst. It's owner obviously doesn't like other people very much, and most of the clothes on the floor are long sleeved. There is a red black and brown plaid pattern all around the walls, a strip of it about half-way up the wall. On a slighty cleared space on the desk there are a few important things. A half-opened jewellary box. Next to it are elastic bands, with a few still inside, of all different colours. Inside the jewellary box there are no jewels. But there is a stanley knife, a blade, a sharp compass, and a small pocket knife. All stained with blood. A few pins are there too, but those are concealed by a half-written piece of homework that has a few droplets of blood on it. Suddenly the dark brown door opens, and a girl walks in. Her dark brown hair is in plaits either side of her neck, and she has a backpack on. She is wearing a plaid skit that reaches her knees, and a long sleeved black top with fishnet gloves that are cut-off at the fingers on beneath her long sleeves. She closes the door behind her and locks it. Then she dumps her back-pack on her bed and walks over to the desk. She gently runs her hands over her cutting tools, and an odd expression flickers over her face. She then grimaces, and clutches at her forearm, sighing. She pulls back her sleeves, and pulls off the gloves. There are cuts all over her inner arm. Some are bleeding sluggishly, but most have already clotted up or are healing. She gently trails her fingers up and down her cuts a few times, and traces the words she's carved there. Pain. Sorrow. Hate. And, of course, "Strawberry Gashes". Strawberry gashes has special meaning for her. The song, by Jack off Jill, was one of her favourites. And Strawberry Gashes were how she coped with her horrid life. No-one has ever seen her cuts, and she secretly hopes no-one ever will. She clenches her fists tightly, remembering what had happened earlier that day. It was horrible. Taunted. Teased. Then coming home to her mother. Her mother being fake again, but un-able to hide the stench of alcohol mixed with fresh vomit that seemed to live in her house. Everywhere except her own room, of course. Her mother never went in her room, in fact, she kept her room locked all the time. Even when there was no-one home. She unclenched her fists, and stared at her arm. The cuts that had been bleeding sluggishly were now flowing a bit more. Not much... not enough. She stood there, frozen for a second or two. Then, suddenly, she rolled up her sleeve more, so her upper arm was bare, and picked up her stanley knife. She extended the blade, and moved her hand so it was poised above her upper arm. She stood there, frozen again, for about a minute. Then suddenly the knife flashed downwards as she sliced at her own flesh, and there was an open wounds. About a centimetre deep, a centimetre wide and four or five centimetres long. She looked at it, and could see white flesh beneath the top layers of skin. She started shaking as she continued to stare at the wound, and suddenly there was a pin-p***k of red surrounded by white. The blood seeped out, as if unsure of the wound at first. Then the wound and all around was red-hot, and she sighed and smiled slightly. She stayed like that for a minute, as the blood ran down her arm. Her wound was bleeding freely now, and as the first few droplets of blood hit the carpet she put the knife back on the desk. She felt better now. Soon she would wipe the blood away and wrap her cut up, but that could wait while she spent a few moments relishing in the feeling of happiness, the feeling of power, the pain she felt everyday and was now addicted to. Then she would be happy. Then everything would be alright.
evil-jessjess Community Member 
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