She imagined a razor in her hand. Cold. Sharp. Vengeful.
Familiar?
And pretending, she ran it across the vein in her left wrist. Just lightly. Never pushing hard enough to break the skin. But ran it over and over and over again. Constantly.
Her emotion. His rejection.
Slowly, the first layer tore under the repetitious movement. Then the second. Still she played. It was just a game. Let's play pretend. Nothing real. Nothing was ever real. Not even the crimson rivets running down her arm. No, those were imagined. Something in the back of her mind. An image reminiscent of a scene in some movie. She almost had it. Now she fell back against her pillows in mock dizziness. Her head painfully banging against the wall. Her fake blood matched the red of her sheets. She was going to black out any minute. From sheer will, not because of the unreal cut across the vein she couldn't really find. She played with ideas in her head while her vision blurred, would anyone miss me if this was real? Would I regret it if it was actually happening? She decided that no was the answer to both accounts.
Thank you.
She realized that this game she was playing wouldn't happen if she could avoid feeling anything. She decided to start a new game. One where she pretended to be happy, instead of pretending to be sad. Because she never really felt anything. She had once, but that turned out to be a mistake. And she wasn't one to repeat mistakes.
Thank you.
So today was the beginning.
She wouldn't cry anymore.
Che. Annoying.
She tried to stand up… but she couldn't. This was more real than she had thought. And now, it was all over. No more games, no more make believe, no more reality. She lived.
He dreamt.
Random. I wrote the majority of this like 4 years ago before having ever seen Naruto. I recently came across it again and was a little weirded out by how it suited Sakura. I'm not usually one for angsty stuff, so this isn't necessarily angsty. It could all just be a dream, or whatev. It is definitely up for interpretation. Read. Review. Tell me that I should probably never write again. Everything's welcome. (However, constructive criticism / blatant praising would be nice)