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The Blade

by Skyler Griffin, Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, USA, Age 16

Taking the blades out of her disposable plastic pink razors became a daily routine. The task was now quite easy. Before, it would take her at least twenty minutes to get the shiny pieces of metal out, but now it only took her five. After the small sleek blades were out of their razor cage, she set them along the soap scum-stained sink. As the floor creaked under her polished toes, she placed a sturdy wooden chair under the speckled, gold doorknob of her bedroom door. It always made her smile by how perfectly the chair would fit between the door and the floor. Overhearing her parents have their usual argument, her ears grew hot. She then turned on the shower, her excuse for locking the door, and shuffled back to her dimly lit bathroom. When the door squeaked close, she could feel her heartbeat grow weak. The steam pressed against her face, and reality began to slip away as the mirror became fogged. Even though reality faded, depression, sadness, and guilt began to cascade over her. She thought of all the atrocious things that had happened to her and all the things that were wrong about her. She faltered, crying. Unfortunately, her weeping was drowned out by the pounding of hot water from the shower faucet.

She reached for the first blade, and slowly put it under the hammering water. Her head and her body started to throb. She thought she couldn't feel any greater pain than what she was already experiencing. She quickly ran the blade across the veins of her wrist. Blood began to appear, and slowly trickle down her freckled, skinny forearm. She sighed with relief, knowing that the pain she felt in her gut would soon be swallowed up again. But the anger still burned inside, and taunted her to go deeper. The next few cuts were quite easy to execute. With each cut sinking into her soft skin, she felt powerful, and in control.

The steam from the shower became overbearing, but her body languished in it and seemed to lust after the humid atmosphere. As her body was enthralled with the intense wetness of the heat, her consciousness began to escape her. She had longed for this drugged and dreamy state. Though she was intoxicated with ecstasy and helplessness, she felt extreme empowerment. Advancing in her high, she glanced at her arm. Blood was still gushing from her self made slits. They made her feel as if they were the gills that allowed her to breathe, to feel…to live. More thoughts swarmed in her naive head, curious to know what greater feeling she could give herself. She looked at her other forearm, which was bare and untouched. She could see the veins that slowly pumped the blood in and out her body.

Making four fast strokes, she watched blood pour out. Her high hit more than ever and so hard that her head knocked against her rickety wooden cabinet. Water from the shower started to overflow. She could feel the wetness flood into her clothes. Unable to peel her blonde head from the cabinets, she lowered her eyes. They widened when she realized that the water was not only consuming her but also her blood. Her rapture was suddenly exchanged for dizziness. In the distance, she could hear banging at her locked bedroom door. Her voice had run away, along with the ecstasy she felt moments before. Fear now shadowed the pleasure in her eyes. Her palpitating heart grew weak and faint. Echoes of pounding from the water and her parents were lost in the heat that was overwhelming her. All was drowning was her own puddle of despair and chaos. For she always knew when to stop. Or at least, she thought she did.