Meryl Silverburgh – The FOXHOUND story

Chapter 1 – A troubled image

Silence echoed round a bleak and lifeless room. There was nothing except a tall mirror and a young girl. The mirror was plain, screwed onto the wall with a large crack down the middle. The young girl was tall and slender. She had short brown hair and deep dark brown eyes. Her hands were soft and dainty yet she stood there with ice-cold tears running down her cheek.

She stared into the mirror. Her hand touching the reflected image of her face. She looked deep into the eyes of her reflection, trying to find a sense of belonging and comfort. But instead, she was greeted with two large dull lifeless eyes looking straight back at her. For the past 3 years this is all she'd ever seen.

She turned away from the mirror pummelling her fists into her leg. There was nothing. No pain. No emotion. In a fit of blinding fury she turned and smashed her fists into the mirror. They struck it with such force that a thousand tiny shards of glass flew high into the air. She thrust her bare wrists out. Waiting for release.

It came.

The tiny shards of glass fell. She held out her wrists further. They ripped through them as if they were paper. A torrent of blood flowed from her veins. Her arms went limp by her side. She fell to her knees. Her face growing paler and paler and the consciousness left her eyes. She slumped down onto the floor. Her eyes closed.

She lay lifeless, Surrounded by a puddle of warm deep crimson blood.