Whatever Kills You Doesn't Make You Stronger

Written for the Prompt of the Week, Week 4 for the Prompts and Reviews Group.

All the light-bulbs in my bathroom have gone out except for one, which lights the spotless ceramics with flickering intensity. My hands shake slightly as I glare into the mirror mounted in front of me--I hate that reflection.

The thin sliver of metal in my hand glints sharply. My gaze is not directed towards it, but it consumes my thoughts. The lock of life can be picked many ways, and this razor is the one I have decided upon. I imagine its bite, its deep, dividing lick; I feel slightly sick.

Life has never been kind to me. There is always something wrong, something detracting from the fullness that others seem to feel. Every day seems to grow darker, less bearable.

Hell, I'm not just tired of life--I'm terrified of it. Having to wake up every day, knowing something will go wrong, petrifies me. I suppose that's my reason for grabbing hold of this easy solution, this short-"cut", if you will. It's not cowardice, it's merely common sense.

Allright, fine, it's cowardice. I'd rather be called a coward than suffer the rest of my life, though. I blink a tear of self-disgust onto my cheek and my grip on the razor tightens.

As I again glance at my reflection, it seems somehow further away, distanced from me, as if it is running away--or, maybe, I'm the one running.

Hell, that's exactly what's happening; I'm just a useless kid running away. The only fight that actually matters, and I'm simply running away. God, I hate myself.

My phone on the tiles next to me lights up, signaling the reception of a message. Ignoring the text, I instead begin to scroll through my list of saved numbers. All these people, and none of them are worth staying alive for. 

Another tear runs along my lip.

S**t.

I'm tired of always giving up--this apathetic resentment has destroyed everything. The razor falls from my fingers, the blood from the shallow cuts in my palm speckling the tiles beneath me. I lean my head back against the wall and let out a shuddering sigh--I can do this, its only life.

Its only life.

Author's Note

The prompt was: You may write a story or poem. It is about Courage and is inspired by the following quote:

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do. Eleanor Roosevelt

It's not my best effort (it's a bit choppy), but I tried lol.

Reviews

[Ravyne Hawke]

Great write, Ben.. I really love your imagery in this piece.. the courage to not kill oneself and decide to live instead.. been there too many times.. you write is strong and masterful.

[Judy Ponceby]

Fine work Ben. You know how to use your words so well to elicit feelings. The images you create are stark, haunting. And the ending, takes courage to face life doesn't it. Very cookie worthy. And I truly hope this is not from your own personal experience, and if so I hope to know that this is in the past and dealt with. Interesting how you use self loathing in here. And sadly short - 'cut", well done :)

[Blue Moon Ice Cream]

It's only life...great way to end it. It kind of makes a point about how precious life is, in a twisted way (twisted like the title, which I love). There were a few places where "its" should have been "it's," but other than that, this seemed pretty smooth to me.

[Daniel Atkinson]

Just wrote a poem about resisting the urge to slit your wrists... Coincidence?

This is great. Love the starkness of it. There's a small spark of hope at the end that implies things won't get better, but at least he won't take the coward's way out. Wonderful work.

[Skoo.]

This is amazing...
I hate how much I can relate to it :L

I literally don't have the words...
Wow.

[Chris Smith Welshpoetcs]

Good write (missed your work) ; )