Bath
February 10th, 2012, 12:09 AM
There once was a girl and she wished to know everything. Often times she found herself lost in thought during inconvenient moments, such as placing her complicated coffee order or being lectured by her mother about how she shouldn't stay up so late. But sometimes this ability to daydrream so vividly came in handy, for example, when she was alone in her room crying. Closed eyes, whispers, and hands feeling her knees, she became lost. She was on a bridge looking down into the water. It was snowing. She was beautiful. She wanted to jump.
Opening her eyes, she screams and runs outside, falling into the grass. She imagines a boy walking up to her and talks to him all night. She names him David.
But David isn't there when she wakes up in the dewy grass, the sun revealing an azure glow in her black, messy curls. And David was never there. She doesn't cry but instead walks to the playground across the street, still in her nightgown. She imagines a girl on the swingset next to her, that tells her she's five and wants to kill herself too. But you're only five, she whispers. The little girl looks up at her with gorgeous, nonexistant bright green eyes... You're only sixteen.
Sometimes she would strum her brother's guitar without really knowing how to play. Sometimes she would see how many days she could go without eating. Sometimes, she was the type of girl who would attempt to read a whole novel in one night.
She would wear corsets and wander around downtown, chain smoking until her throat burned, pretending she didn't have a name.
"What's your name?"
"Names are stupid."
It always ended the same. She would fall asleep crying because she couldn't take the anxiety attacks after she realized the people she fell in love with weren't real. But tonight, she drew in a deep breath. Not now, not tonight. She rushed to the bathroom and took a pair of tweezers, she plucked out a crisp blade from her razor. She dropped to the floor. She. She. She.
She dug it into her arm, pulling the blade toward her. A sharp pain seared and then warm scarlet dripped to the floor.
"This is real."
Opening her eyes, she screams and runs outside, falling into the grass. She imagines a boy walking up to her and talks to him all night. She names him David.
But David isn't there when she wakes up in the dewy grass, the sun revealing an azure glow in her black, messy curls. And David was never there. She doesn't cry but instead walks to the playground across the street, still in her nightgown. She imagines a girl on the swingset next to her, that tells her she's five and wants to kill herself too. But you're only five, she whispers. The little girl looks up at her with gorgeous, nonexistant bright green eyes... You're only sixteen.
Sometimes she would strum her brother's guitar without really knowing how to play. Sometimes she would see how many days she could go without eating. Sometimes, she was the type of girl who would attempt to read a whole novel in one night.
She would wear corsets and wander around downtown, chain smoking until her throat burned, pretending she didn't have a name.
"What's your name?"
"Names are stupid."
It always ended the same. She would fall asleep crying because she couldn't take the anxiety attacks after she realized the people she fell in love with weren't real. But tonight, she drew in a deep breath. Not now, not tonight. She rushed to the bathroom and took a pair of tweezers, she plucked out a crisp blade from her razor. She dropped to the floor. She. She. She.
She dug it into her arm, pulling the blade toward her. A sharp pain seared and then warm scarlet dripped to the floor.
"This is real."