Cutting

         I cut. It's so easy, so simple. The coward's way out really. But it's a way out and that's all that matters to me. I'm not sure if I want to kill myself. I don't think I do. I think I just want to torture myself. I'm such a bad person. I must suffer. The thing I love the most about it is the blood. Rushing to the surface, overflowing, trickling along my skin. I always cut my wrists, sometimes cutting deep into previous cuts, usually making new ones. I wear long sleeves. No one will see the dark scars. No one will ever know my little secret. No one. No one . . .
         Whenever I think about no one I need to cut again. Putting my wrist over the sink so that the blood will wash away. No one will ever know. No one . . .
         Razors, kitchen knives, scissors, whatever I have, whatever will work, whatever will cut.
         Thoughts rush through my mind as I watch the blood once more surge up. So red, deep deep red. That's all I am. That's all that's inside of me. Nothing real. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that anyone will miss. No one will miss you, I tell myself over and over, no one, no one . . .
         I cut deeper and deeper. New cuts, new blood. Keep it flowing. How much is too much? The blood is slowly filling up the sink, refusing to drain. I turn the water on high, watching it wash the blood away, not caring about the new blood dripping from my wrist and swirling in the churning water.
         No one ever sees me while I'm cutting. I don't have any siblings. My parents are almost never home. Once I cut myself too much at one time, too much blood was lost. I had just cut more and more and I had fainted. I was still all alone when I regained consciousness. I had cleaned the blood off the floor. After that I hadn't cut for almost twenty four hours. I need it, though. I need to feel the pain, see the blood, and know that it's all just mine, my little secret. So, I cut.
         Finally, I am finished. It takes self-control and much resolve to stop, but I do. I wash away the last trace of blood from the sink, and I lick away the leftover blood on my skin. I pull my sleeves down to cover the scars once more, to hide my obsession from everyone.