I was bored one day and just wrote this...it's my first...so yea

I pressed the knife against my skin. The cold metal felt nice against my burning flesh. I stared at the blood that began to ooze out of the two inch gash I had made across my wrist. I waited for the pain. My first time cutting myself and I couldn't feel any pain. At least pain would tell me that I could still feel. Anything would be better than all this emptiness.

Feeling disgusted at myself, I cleaned up the mess I had made. I washed the cut under cold water and then wrapped my wrist in a bandage. The thin burning of the cut had subsided long ago, but that wasn't enough pain for me. I wanted more.

Never in my life did I think that I could kill myself. Even though he didn't want me, there had to be someone out there who wanted me or at least needed me. But as much as I tried to think of a person who felt that way about me, no names could come up; no faces either.

I picked up the knife and held it by the blade, tight enough so that it wouldn't fall from my hand, but loose enough so that I wouldn't cut myself. I turned it over in my hands, admiring the teeth of the knife. My parents had died a while ago, but I was already nineteen when they. Who knows, maybe I'd see them in heaven. If I actually went there.

I held the knife by the handle now. I could feel the wheels in my mind turning. Could I really do this? Would I really kill myself? Just to get away from all the pain I had? Or the lack of feeling, really. I didn't feel anything now and nobody looked up to me anyways. I couldn't think of one person who would actually miss me if I was dead.

All the people I loved were gone. And there were only three people who I really loved. My parents, but they were already up there. And him. But he left long time ago and I was still feeling the pain. I don't even know what happened to him. All I know was that he gave me the best days of my life and I would be forever grateful to him for that.

I took off my shirt so I standing clad in only my bra and jeans. I pressed the tip of the knife on the skin over my heart. A drop of blood came out. I was really going to do this. I lifted the knife and then plunged it into my heart.

For a long time, all I could feel was pain. It was burning and cold at the same time. I could the feel the knife pierce through my heart and the hurt was intense and almost unbearable. All I could feel was the heart and I felt as if I was having contractions of something. It hurt so much; I couldn't help but cry out.

Then it passed, slowly but it passed. I saw my life flash before my eyes and faces of people from school, my teachers, the little friends I had, my parents, and his face flashed through my mind. The images seemed to blur altogether until it was just a bunch of memories. Then it was dark.

Twenty one year old, Isabella Marie Swan was found dead in the living room of her one bedroom apartment on Rose Park Avenue at approximately two-fifty in the afternoon of July twelfth, 2003. Her cause of death was ruled out as suicide as there were no signs of force in her house and her hand wrapped loosely around the knife (seven inch blade) that was plunged into her heart. Her t-shirt was found on the floor beside her. She was clad in jeans and a bra. Her eyes were closed and her face in a relaxed position, almost smiling. There are no signs that someone else other than the victim was in the home. She has no present family alive. She was found by police when they broke into her home looking for her. She was not present in class for the last two days and her professor was worried as to what might have happened to her. Isabella was described as an extremely quiet person who barely spoke during classes but was a very wonderful writer. Let her rest in peace.