Seven times that day, Sera's mother had beaten her, and for what? Her father had not come home again that night, just as he had not for several months now. Sera was blamed, although it was no fault of hers. She was just one of many who could not take the commitment, and left. Sera figured it out long ago, but her mother refused to accept that she had been abandoned. Cradling a newly broken arm, Sera sat on her bed, cursing her own existence. Why must she be punished for what was not her fault?
"This life is meaningless to me. Why should I continue on...?" She asked this not to anyone in particular, merely voicing out loud what was on her mind. Walking over to her dresser, she slid open a drawer and pulled out a pocket-knife. She had played with this idea before, and being sixteen, she had plenty of time to do so. True, her father left only a few months ago, but the last seven times were not the first.
Flipping it open, she raised it to her wrist, the blade hovering over other attempts at her life. She always hesitated at this point, but she was never truly sure why. Casting aside her doubt, she pressed down, continuing though she felt the intensity of it biting through her flesh of her already broken arm. The warmth of her own blood flowing down her arm brought an odd sense of calm to her. As she bled, she began to feel better, the loss of it all making her slip past the point of realism. In her hazy stupor, she did not seem to understand that she was dying, a small smile playing across her lips as she reached the point that there was more blood on the floor and soaked in her clothes than there was in her body. Strength failing, she slipped sideways and onto the comforters on her bed. Before the darkness claimed her, the hazy silhouettes of a group of people sidled into her vision, and then all was dark and quiet.