Slit River (Draft 1)

Honestly i am extremely disappointed in this piece because it was a project for my school as a short story but i wished to make it a full fledged story and i couldn't write to the best of my ability.

Slit River

So here i am again, with my fist tightly clenched and the knife in my hand, wondering when this will all end. My scars, obvious and unfading, smile back at me as if mockingly answering this constant question, “simple, this will never end”. After i ponder this response i continue with my endeavor to add to the smiling scars, after all, how does the saying go? “The more the merrier”? i lower the knife onto my wrist with a passion and i feel the tip touch. Again.

“River…”

“River…”

“RIVER!”

i open my eyes to see a group of ten or so miserable children staring back at me accompanied by our cheery therapist who has obviously never felt an ounce of misery. “Yes?” i sassily respond. Unperturbed by my clear dislike for her, my therapist repeats herself, “it’s your turn to share, what is on your mind dear? Has anything improved in your life? How are you feeling?” i throw my fake smile on and respond as a typical teenager should, “No ma’am, all’s well here, and i think i am able to go home, in fact i don’t think i need to come to therapy at all anymore, ‘dear’.” i shuffle slightly to hide my fresh scars that i had acquired over the last few days from prying eyes. As expected little Mrs. cheery responded with the standard response, “you know river if you don’t talk about this stuff it is only going to get worse.” i simply stared back until she went on to the next sad soul stuck in this group. Fine by me, that means i don’t have to deal with her miserable optimism.

Day to day routine is just that, routine, nothing in my life changes, i guess that’s part of the problem, nothing changes so i know my misery won't either. i walk home from therapy with my hoodie pulled up around my face close and my headphones blasting so i do not need to deal with other people. Music is my only friend but that is simply because music doesn’t bother me, music let’s me be me, music does not try to change me, music loves me, scars and all. i pause at the crosswalk and look farther down the street towards apartment number 76, 3 blocks away. The run down place i live in with the people who conceived me. Although that is true, it is not my ‘home’ and definitely not my ‘parents’. Home is where the heart is and i definitely do not love those people who accompany me in that shack. i turn left so i can take as much possible time to get ‘home’ so i am not confronted and questioned, again, as fitting my daily routine.

i continue walking until i reach the end of the block and i turn right again so i will come up behind my house. By the time i get there i know my parents are going to be upset that i am so late, so i climb up the tree in the backyard and go straight in the window of my room. i look around at my belongings, nothing really matters to me except my stuff and i hate all of the things my parents put in my room to make it more upbeat.

Every day i come home to some new stupid stuffed animal or pink poster, today they decided to replace my black blanket with a ‘princess’ comforter. i walked straight to my desk and grabbed my scissors, i then went to work on the comforter. After a few minutes there were now strips of fabric missing and i cut them out in letters, the comforter no longer said ‘princess’, it now had scars that spelt ‘respect my property’. i then searched around my desk until i found some duct tape. i hung the comforter in front of my doorway so when my parents opened the door they would be greeted by my fine work of art. i looked around my room again and still couldn't locate my old blanket. i climbed back down the tree and went around front to the community dumpster and looked inside and, just as i thought, it was in there hidden under someones leaking bag of kitchen waste. i didn’t care, i was getting that back, i dove in and grabbed it. When i climbed out i officially smelt like a sewer. i wasn’t going to waste my time going up a tree with a blanket so i went in the front door.

As soon as i opened the door i was greeted by my parents shouting that i was late, then they realized what i was hauling through their pristine house and they fell silent as a little birdy appeared between my ring and pointer fingers. i went straight to the bathroom to wash myself and my blanket.

After about an hour struggle i finally got the smell out of both myself and my property. i opened the door and dragged the soaking blanket across the hardwood floors until i reached my room, i opened my door and as i expected my parents had already found the shredded comforter and removed it, they cannot even respect my boundaries for an hour. i go in and drape the blanket outside my window to dry. i lay onto my bed and decide that sleep sounds better than food tonight.

The next morning i wake to the sound of my parents arguing...again. They try to put on a false face for me whenever i am home but whenever they think i am not around they are always bickering. Love is a concept that has always eluded me, not always by choice. Believe me i have tried, and all that ever comes out of it is pain. After what happened with my last relationship it has been very difficult for me to open up to anyone. i try but all i can think about is what my ex did. He used and abused me and it all ended with a mighty fine bow on top called rape, by his buddies. They drugged me up and had their way with my ex watching the entire time. Then they left me in the gutter naked for the world to see until i woke the next morning. So yeah, love is a thing that i no longer believe exists. Anyways, i don't feel like talking about that, at least not yet.

The only people i have ever had any feelings for have left or been taken from me. In the end i am always alone. It is even harder being an only child, although it was not always this way. i used to have an older brother in his twenties. My parents act as if he never existed, i guess it is easier for them to manage his death this way. When i was 11 my brother had come home and had been doing drugs again, he came home in a car that was definitely not his own because we could not afford a mercedes. He had not realized that a cop had followed him home and when my brother came in the house we had a firm knock on the door two minutes later. When my father opened the door he was pushed aside roughly and two cops came in with guns up. My brother saw this and while the rest of us froze, he ran. He had almost made it out of the window too, the last image i have of my brother is forever scarred into my brain as the bullet came out of the gun and his limp body fell to the floor.

Well the school bus will be coming soon. It is another day of isolation and torture. i decided to skip breakfast today, i probably won't eat again tonight either. i suppose that is why people say i am skinny, but i know it is a lie, i weigh 109 lbs and you can only see my bones when i suck in my gut. The school forces us to eat lunch, but it is okay, i will go throw it up right afterwards in the bathroom. No one will ever know, and they don’t need to. i have no friends to tell and lying is my forte. i generally keep to myself since i’m that girl that everyone talks about behind their back. i just wish this was over, when will this end.

School, therapy, home, sleep, four main places in my day to day routine and i find no peace in any of those places, even my dreams haunt me. Thoughts like these plague me throughout the school day, i constantly glance at the clock waiting to be free of school but then i remember that going home won’t be much better, i am filled with dread. i glance at the clock again and see that it is almost lunch time. i plan my time so i have the last five minutes to head to the bathroom to throw my meal back up. i look at the clock again, the black minute and hour hands stand out against the white circle like scars upon the wall. 20 seconds until i must pretend to enjoy eating such terrible food.

10...

9...

8...

7...

6...

…

Where am i…

i wake to a figure looming over me construed by a bright white light, my first thought is “is it over?” Then my eyes focus on the white walls around me and i see the glass door that says “mooR noitanimaxE”. It took me a minute to realize i was inside the Examination Room. i look at the tray of food and zone out entirely because i know what the doctor is saying, it is always the same. His words fall upon my deaf ears as i slip back into sleep.

i wake to find myself in my own bed once again. They must have let me come home with my parents. When my eyes adjust again this time i see my desk instead of the food tray at the hospital and i think about the knife that is resting in the drawer of the desk, i think about how easy it would  be to get up and end it all. i stand and walk towards the desk, i open the drawer and reach inside, i prick my finger on the blade unintentionally and i pull back in pain. i watch as my blood runs out of the wound and drips to the floor, the cut was fairly deep but manageable, i quickly run to get a bandaid and when i come back i see the knife sitting there with a small amount of blood on the blade. It was captivating, i walk over once again and grab the handle, i walk to the bathroom where i could go to do anything without being disturbed. i sit down on the toilet and pull up my sleeve and stare at my scars that smile back at me. i Unconsciously move my hand that holds the knife until it is hovering above my other wrist.

So here i am again, with my fist tightly clenched and the knife in my hand, wondering when this will all end. My scars, obvious and unfading, smile back at me as if mockingly answering this constant question, “simple, this will never end”. After i ponder this response i continue with my endeavor to add to the smiling scars, after all, how does the saying go? “the more the merrier”? i lower the knife onto my wrist with a passion and i feel the tip touch. Again.

“River…”

“River…”

“RIVERS OF BLOOD!”

i watch as it pours from my wrist and i begin to worry, “did i go too deep?”  i feel myself begin to lose consciousness and the last thing i see is my blood soaked knife fall from my hand...

Author's Note

You may notice i left all "i"s lowercase, that is because i wanted to show that she thought she was so unimportant that it was something small to keep the reader hooked, did it add to that effect? This Short story will end up being comprised of personal experiences of myself and people i know, it already only scratches the surface.

Reviews

[Reina Stone]

Wow. So from this passage alone it's obvious that you are a powerful writer and that you have a lot to say especially about the topic of suicidal depression. I did notice your i's are all lower case, and from that notion I can tell why the detail is limited. It fits with the voice. Editors might not understand that though so if you are planning on turning this into a novel- (maybe she falls unconscious but she wakes up in the hospital. After she survives she learns either life gets better, or she learns to become stronger, etc. However you want to do it. Those are just a few ideas to help you continue if you wanted to. Anything could happen.) - If you are planning on turning this topic into a novel you might have to write your I's in uppercase and showcase her unimportance in a different way. Perhaps she has a younger sister who her parents listen to or notice before noticing her. Again, that is just one way you can do it. On top of all that, great writing. It has a good pace and enough complexity to hook a reader. I'd read it. I might be afraid of the part that has to do with rape, but I'd hope to see her become stronger or overcome it.

[tmasse]

Thank you very much and actually this all started with the ending, in theory that will be the actual end and yeah, im not very into writing much so i probably wont get it proffesionally edited. honestly i cannot wait to actually finish it but i am also scared to