• Her eyes clouded over as she held her pillow closely to her chest.
    Her breathing had heightened, and the pain became almost unbearable. She turned her cheek and let the first tear roll down her face.
    "I can't take it anymore.", she muttered to herself.
    Her loneliness was abysmal, and because of it, she doubted she would ever find companionship in anyone.
    How could she, when she didn't even love herself? How could she expect anybody to love her? She heaved a large sigh and flopped down onto her bed.
    Her mind began to dwell on the sensation of a blade running along her wrists. She promised herself that she would try to stop, but she knew the promise was empty, just as all the other promises she made were.
    The pain of a razor was something she was accustomed to, and the little droplets of blood running down until they linked together and formed a stream was her ideal perception of art.
    The thoughts raced in her head until she couldn't take it anymore, got up, and retrieved her razor from her little box of personal possessions on her desk.
    Then again, she got onto her bed, but this time with an intention other than crying. She smiled at her scarred up arm, those little memories etched into her skin.
    "I'll add another memory, I suppose...", she thought to herself in madness.
    God, this madness felt so good though.
    Sure, her problems wouldn't fade from the act, but they would feel much more justified. Her problems would be made visible to all those who dared to look, though it felt like even they were few.
    She picked a clean spot on her arm, pressed the razor against the virgin skin, and slowly dragged it along watching the first droplets of blood well up and take form.
    As soon as the incision was made she dropped the razor, and sobbed, not guilty of doing it, but guilty that she actually felt relieved. She squeezed the separated flesh together, making more blood force it's way out of her skin from the pressure.
    Then glaring at the blood that was making it's way to her bed sheets, she lifted the cut to her mouth, licked it, and then kissed it, staining her lips red.
    "Gloria!, It's dinner time!"
    She got up off her bed, stumbled towards her dresser, and pulled out a sweater.
    "I'm coming!", she said, running down stairs to the dining room, where she ate with her oblivious family.
    "Your eyes look red. You should stop sleeping around upstairs and do something productive with your life.", her mother barked at her.
    During the dinner prayer, Gloria prayed that God would take her up to heaven.