Pansy slowly pulled the razor across her arm. Blood streamed out in small rivulets, dotting her white sheets. But no pain came. She felt nothing but empty inside. Like a black hole that could never be filled up no matter how hard you tried.
So she made another neat red line above the other and this time pain shot through her numb, drugged body. Tears stung her bloodshot eyes and her teeth ripped into her lower lip. She could taste the coppery blood in her mouth.
The razor dropped onto the pillow, falling from Pansy's trembling fingers. She buried her head into her hands sobbing uncontrollably. Now that she felt something she wanted to go back to feeling nothing. Images of fucking guys flashed passed her minds eyes taunting her playfully. Her giving some man a blow job when she was completely pissed and tweaking.
All the mistakes in her life that she had purposefully done to numb the pain and loneliness that coursed through her veins. They had helped, but only briefly. No she felt a new pain and the only way to get rid of it was to feel again. And feeling again brought back all those memories.
Blood streamed down her arms, covering the small red scars that her arm already adorned. The images ran out with it and for a brief second all she felt was a painful bliss where everything was dead and she felt good.
Then it all became horrifically clear. There was no escape from the emptiness and pain save one thing. Death.
In death she could rest six feet under and never have to worry about being loved.
Her tears dried up and she reached down for the razor, wanting death more than anything she had ever wanted.
She ripped it hungrily across the wrist again and again feeling the skin tear and split open. Fountains of blood squirting across her hand.
It all dropped down onto the white sheets, drops staining together to become puddles and lakes. And the waterfall continued.
She transferred the razor to her other hand and tore it across the pale immaculate skin of her wrist. More blood. More lakes. More rivers. More waterfalls.
Pain going. Pain leaving. Pain streaming out. Bliss. Feeling bliss.
Sleepy.
Pansy slips from consciousness and her head falls onto her pillow.
When they find her she looks like a story book princess. Her black hair fanned out on her pillow, a peaceful look on her face.
Halos of blood encircled her hands.
Her dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. There was just a hint of hope and sorrow left.
Pansy Parkinson was free now.