AN: This was supposed to be a poem, but as I tought it out, it turned into a story like thing. I do not own any of the characters.
Why?
Why do I feel this pain?
Why don't people understand me.....?
Why can't they notice....how I feel?
Why have I been reduced to this?
No one understand!
How.
I.
Feel.
As I swipe the gleaming blade from my dresser,
I'm already prepared for the pain.
No one else will ever know about me.....
No one else will ever feel the pain I feel...
So why is it?
Why do I hesitate?
Do I fear the pain?
No.
It's my memories.
Memories of my friends.
They hold me here, alive.
They reassure me that no one will ever take me away.
They'll protect me from any one....
....But will they be able to protect me from myself?
At some points......
.......When the snap at me........
.........The pain is too intense.
When I feel so put down, I come scurrying to my dresser.
They call me coward.
They call me baby.
They call me afraid.
They call me stupid.
They get their pleasure from my pain.
Why?
Why do I stay here, with them?
In the past...
...We were......
.....Inseparable.......
No one knew that we weren't related.
We bickered like brother and sister.
It didn't matter that he was a Hanyou and that I was a miko....
So why must I feel this way?
As I here them call my name, I reply.
'Here!' I say, 'I'll be right down!'
Then, I slice.
This is the first time that they've ever pushed me so far.
In the background, I hear a song.
It's a country one.
'Who's Cheating Who?'
It fits.
When the blood doesn't well up, I realize that someone has replaced it.
It's a fake.
'Oh, well.' I seem to shrug.
And I do.
I have plenty of spares.
I walk over to my bookshelf and yank two books out.
In between is a freshly sharpened razor.
I place the sharpened edge against my skin.
I press in gently.
Then, I swipe it to the right like you would a credit card.
It stings a lot.
I feel satisfied as I see the fresh re liquid well up.
Suddenly, my door opens and they're standing there.
They rush to me and take away the razor.
No one noticed the blood yet.
Only the razor.
They don't know that they're the ones that hurt me in the first place.
'Don't even think about it.' They say.
Then, someone does.
I shift my bloodied hand.
How could they miss it?
They stare at it.
Then, they stare at me.
I'm a freak.
They run for the door, afraid of me.
They trip over eachother.
The door slams behind them.
They left me when I needed me.
That's OK.
I didn't expect them to stay anyways.
I pick up the forgotten razor.
I find two main veins and I slice them as deep as I can go.
Sure, it hurts.
Don't let anyone say that it doesn't.
It does.
Like hell.
My wrists are bleeding out my pain.
They're my tears.
My bloody tears that no one has ever seen.
I smirk.
I found my freedom.
My vision starts to blur.
As, I start to fall, the world starts to get darker.
Colors were blending into black.
I could hear a faint, faraway thud as I hit the floor.
I hear echos.
My hearing is getting distant.
Someone's messing with the door handle.
My so called friends had locked me in.
The door swings open and I hear gasps of fear and horror.
Are they scared?
Of a body?
Oh, man......
......They called in an ambulance.
This sucks.
I really hope that I lose to much blood.
When I wake up, some five days later, I wonder where I am.
Someone answers my silent question.
I'm at a hospital.
Great.
I'll probably have to see a shrink and junk.
I hate this.
They send someone else to talk to me instead of doing it themselves.
Wimps.
'Why'd you do it?' People ask.
I pretend I'm sleeping.
Only one man is left.
He hasn't said anything yet.
I know what he wants to know.
As I think about it, tears try to form as I held them back.
'No one cares,' I say, 'No one cares about me.
No one understands me.
They don't even try!'
He gets up to leave.
'They don't try because you don't let them.'
He leaves as my tears finally poured out.
I hadn't cried in a long time.
It felt good.
As I cried, I realized something.
It's true.
I had never let them get close to me.
It was my fault the whole time.
What I don't know........
........Is why?
Some one opens the door...
'Kagome?'
I smile.
I do have friends.
AN: In case you think that this is some kind of joke or something, I would like to let you know that this one was written from a personal experience. It didn't really happen, but it almost did. My friends caught me and dragged me downstairs. Please Reiview!