Words.

This short story is based off a true experience, I used to get bullied for my race. And people would make fun of me. And what they realized is that even though I put on a tough outside, it still hurt.

Everything around me stills.

The air around me is filled with the sound of my anguished cries.

I’m surrounded by people.

It’s as if I don’t even exist.

My hands run through my hair.

My once beautiful luscious curly locks, now turned to thick tangles.

The tangles are all clumped together and blood integrated with my hair.

My wrists are cut and blood is cascades down my forearm down to my waist.

The once beautiful, beige, knit cashemere sweater my brother had once gifted me was now torn across my stomach.

The tears were marks of stabs all along my stomach.

At one mark, a knife handle protruded, blood drizzling down.

Below my sweater, I was wearing silky, sheen, jet black leggings.

The leggings were damaged beyond repair.

Blood drenched the leggings as it traveled in a small stream down my thigh.

Immense lacerations ranged from my hip down to the middle of my thighs.

The slashes were knuckle deep, blood was flooding down my thigh now as a new slash opened up.

I had fallen to my knees by now the pain was so great.

All over my body new cuts and gashes were appearing.

I cried out for help to the people around me.

But not so much as a second glance was earned.

I gave up asking for help and started begging for it to stop.

I couldn’t take this pain anymore.

But then everything went quiet around me.

Everyone else had vanished.

Only one person remained.

The one thing in my life that I couldn’t handle.

The walked right up to me and I stood up.

“Your a terrible person. Your personality is terrible. I’m surprised you even have friends. They must really hate you.” They said loud and clearly.

That was it.

No more.

I can’t take this anymore.

They are right.

I am a bad person.

I do have a horrendous personality.

I am suprised I that have friends.

But what makes matters worse,

Is that this person was the one person I let into my heart.

The one person I let care for me,

Love me,

And become really close with.

Next thing I knew my hand was shaking and a sharp blade was right against my neck.

“Do it.” They said.

“No one will miss you. It’ll be for better good for you.” They instructed sternly.

But right after that they turned aroudn and left me.

Left my life.

Left my heart torn and vulnerable.

Left me.

Next thing I knew I had dropped the blade on the ground.

It was soaked throughly with blood.

Thick red blood.

My hands were covered in blood.

I fell to the ground sobbing.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Was all I said repeatedly.

I stood up once more.

There were no cuts, no gashes.

My clothes were like the way they were before.

My hair was back in it’s normal hairdo.

No one could see the cuts, even I couldn’t see them.

But they were there.

And it wasn’t a blade that made them.

But simply people’s words.

Especially the one person who I thought I could trust.

But I’ve learned to not trust anyone.

To not let anyone become that close with me again.

But no one,

Not even a single person,

Noticed,

The amount of pain,

Their few words,

Put me through.