She heard the floorboards creaking in the fall, the familiar rhythmic pat of her mother's feet filled her head. This sound made her want to scream. The very sight of her mother made her want to die. Though it hadn't always been this way.
She waited; silently, holding her breath as the sound of the footsteps faded out and away from her mind, leaving her to wallow once more in her ever-present misery.
She slowly lifted her arm, reaching for her bedside table. there was only one object she could feel; the small, cold sharp blade that her fingers danced around. she picked up the blade and brought it to her left arm, poised and ready to begin.
The bare skin rippled with goosebumps at the cold feeling of the razor. She pushed it into her skin, releasing a trickle of sorrow-filled blood. She relished in the feeling of the warm blood dripping out of her wounds; slow, warm, thick.
All she heard now was the slow, incessant beating of her heart. Would she survive? She could never know. She shed no tears, just waited for the bright, white light of clarity to guide her away from this hazy world.
