Agony

Its been a while since, and the scares have started to fade away. You cold no longer see the rust-colored lines, adorning my wrist at regular 2 point intervals. Anybody would mistake the faint ,blurred lines in my wrist as the mark of a watch worn tightly, or a bracelet constricted mercilessly. But to me, they means experience. To my eyes, they hold the same depth and clarity as they had in those haunted nights which led to their birth.

It had been a warm winter's day. I had been sitting in the french tiled bathroom, my father's razor clasped in one hand, and my head in another. Worthlessness, anguish, hatred,anger; every teardrop that fell were filled with the hot emotions which churned inside my mind.

When I had seen his tongue travel down the hot blonde's neck, I didn't cry. Not my first reaction, no. Truth is, I hadn't felt anything at all, for there had been this familiar feeling of emptiness that filled my body; a numbness that seemed to devour me whole. Where my sternum should have given away to my abdomen, there was this vast chasmic nothingness. I was hollow, I was empty.

The real pain had started when I had returned to my room and faced myself in the mirror. It was a new kind of pain, of magnificent and magnified proportions.The sudden impact of it blew the air out of me; it burned my lungs,my ribs, and my insides screamed in luctation , trying to wish this strange new pain away. I debated in my mind; was I really a use and throw material? Was I so bad? Or maybe it was my blind optimism to put the blame on. 

I was sitting on the bathroom floor, the cold from the marble seeping through the thin material wrapping my legs, radiating an aura of chill and creating a barrier of warmth which I had now come to detest. I was too young to feel such pain, I had decided, and too pained to call myself 'young' anymore.

I raised the razor to my wrist and pressed the tip of the blade against my skin. It was a quick,sharp sensation, which made both my body and mind unstable, as my tears finally broke through. I little drop of crimson raised its head from my otherwise yellow skin, and made it's way around the curve of my arm. I dug deeper, making a vertical,jagged cut across my wrist, and watched as a river of red made it's way from my hand to the floor. I shed my blood, my tears, and the bitterness of both united on the floor, they formed a color of rust; a collection of a first felt grief, making it's way down the sinkhole, leaving behind agony and a inconsequential feeling.

I once heard someone say, "Sometimes pain becomes such a huge part of your lives that you expect it to always be there. You can’t remember a time in your life when it wasn’t."  I could not have said it better. I was trapped in the clutches of Sorrow. It's not like I had a choice. Nobody has a choice. You're trapped the very moment it finds you. You are whirled into it's world, blinded by pain and anger. You walk into your own personal hell.You battle with nature, you battle with your mind. It is an ultimate test of survival, and not many pass through.Lives are lost, minds are maddened, but Sorrow still manages to get what he wants; a vicious,powerful army that succumbs to his unconquerable power.

Reviews

[ron s king]

As a writer of many books and old enough to be critical, I found your writing very skillful and mature. I do hope you continue to write and create your manuscript.
I would only give this slight critique, that you do not put a comma before the word 'And' plus not use the semi-colon (Not because it's usage is bad, it is perfect English but not used much in todays writing.)
Other than that, a most beautiful piece of work which held me to the end. Thank you...

[Skye]

Thank you so much for your advice! I really hope to get some recognition in my later years. (: