Since I was a little girl I had always wanted to see the stars, when I was five to nine I wanted to be an astronaut, when I was ten I wanted to build space ships and up until thirteen I wanted to study constellations, my dreams were of galaxies, exploding suns and distant moons. Up until thirteen, then I dreamed of a knife and an endless float through the universe.
My skin every day since I was a child has always been mottled, mixed colours of purple, blue, green, red and yellow. The colours of the galaxy, and forever more that is until I turned fifteen, then I dreamt of it being a deathly pale, the way it should have been from the beginning, but God had apparently turned a blind eye and let my parents continue with this torture. The worst thing of it though is knowing they're my parents, and knowing they will never care, and that knowing no one will or have ever loved me.
As I starred at the small knife in my hand I know it will only take a few seconds of pain, and five slits in my skin and it will all be over, they will mean more than the useless pictures and words carved into my skin, maybe I'll see the stars, I wasn't important to the universe.
I took a deep breathe letting my mind focus on the task ahead, ankles and neck first, I thought, even though it will be painful, it will all be over in the end. I want to see the stars, my mind pleaded in encouragement to keep going as I dragged the knife across the back of my ankle, wondering if I had cut deep enough. The wind picked up outside, the familiar trees swooshing back and forth the ones I would never see again.
"I want to see the stars!" I said determinedly dragging it painfully across the other ankle, as a plane flew overhead.
"I want to see the stars!" I growled, as I heard a loud bang downstairs into my old rotting cubby house. Was the universe really trying to make my life miserable?
I heard running up the stairs and down my hallway, my parents never ran. Whatever, if it was some psycho murderer they'd probably get the job done a lot quicker. The person skidded to a stop right outside my door, maybe the universe did care.
"Skylar Harrison," said the man with the combed over brown hair, bowtie and tweed jacket "would you like to see the stars?" he continued enthusiastically. I don't if it was from the shock of a psychic-weirdo appearing in my house, or the loss of blood, all I know is my vision grew black and my head felt fuzzy, my world flipped and my head hit the ground.