Cut

Marianna De Lovovitch is a very sad girl. She lost her father at the age of six, to 9/11. Now fourteen, she's quiet and lonley, though she doesn't seem to want friends. Her mother went into depression when her father died, and for Marianne, it seemed as though her mother didn't see her through the viel of her grief. Marianna's uncle supports her mother and her, for her mother spends all her time locked in her room, doing who know what. Sometimes, Marianne feels as though she has nothing to live for. No friends, no love, and no hope. A few times, she finds herself thinking about suicide. After all, who would miss her? If tales of the afterlife were true, she would see her father again. She still remember him back then, his warm smile and big laugh. Back then, she wasn't the depressed, dark girl she was now. She had little kindergarten friends; they still sometimes came by to sit with her during lunch. But Marianne never said anyting. Since that day, she became mute. Her bright smile was in a permanent frown. No one loved her; the life she lived was dull. The bright golden curls she used to have were now limp and pale, like undercooked spagetti. She just sat in her room all day, and dreamed. She dreamed what would have beeen if her father had survived, if she had many friends, if she was loved. Mostley, she just thought about her lost father, and tried to remember his face. Her mother, when he had died, had burned all the pictures of him in the house, except for the one she kept in a beaten silver locket around her neck. She was always fingering that locket, twiting her fingesrs around it and carassing it gently. The only person who missed Marianna's father mor then she did herself was her mother.

 This pain, this pain in the heart, a bullet in her soul, was not one Marianne could control. Marianne didn't like this feeling; the feeling of horrendus pain in her being. But still, it reminded her of the love she was missing, and her father. Sometimes, the pain in her soul and heart was too much to take; sometimes, she cut herself. It was like letting out the air in a baloon; the cut was an opening for the searing pain of lonelyness to escape through. The ruby red blood stained the blade of her pocket knife. Angry, half-healed slashes criss-crossed her arms, her palm, her legs and toes. Some were just faint scars, long gone and but still there. The largest scar was on her palm, the first time she cut herself. She went too deep and long, leaving a huge, painful ash that somehow healed her within. It was a serious ingury, though; if she went o the hospital, they would  know she cut herself, and put her on meds. Call her crazy and depressed, lock her up in a foamed room. So Mariannna, with a spool of black thread and a sharp needle, sewed herself up. This pain was refresing; it felt good to her, nearly as good as the knife did. Some unecassary stabs of the needle here and there relaxed her soul, too.

This was pain. But good pain, sweet pain, refreshing pain.

This was healing to her. Not to her body, but to her soul.

Reviews

[chocolate_addict]

What an interesting and dark piece you have here. I really got a sense of how she felt. Although her character was established somewhat it would have been nice to have a flashback of some sort or something of that nature in which Marianna was with her father. I just think it would have made more of a connection between the character and the father who died.

By the way I loved her name: "Marianna De Lovovitch" :) It has a very nice ring to it. I always have trouble with character names.

"Marianna's uncle supports her mother and her, for her mother spends all her time locked in her room, doing who know what."