Sam looked up to see a face that she hated most. The face of a "psychopathic maniac" she had heard some say. Angry tears fell down her cheeks as she raised her hand to strike her own reflection. Blood ran down her wrist until she stopped it at her elbow. She was too angry to care.
Any normal girl would have called a friend they knew they could cry to, but not Sam. Sam was no ordinary girl. She was adopted and they hated her. Everyone hated her. Though she knew this not, her biological mother was a psychotic woman in a mental facility. Sam had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, except her reflection. She was all alone.
Sam pulled at the glass in her wrist, but instead on pulling it, she pushed it deeper. Deeper down, the glass lay under her pale skin in between the bone.
Her full name, as far as she knew, was Samara Morgan but Sam didn't like that much. Her "parents", Anna and Richard Morgan, owned a ranch and kept horses in the barn. But as well as horses, Samara was in the barn as well, up high, in the loft. The loft, was her room. A tall ladder leading up to it.
She walked out of the barn and into the Morgan house. Anna stopped where she stood. "Samara, what are you doing?"
"I'm washing my hands."
"Why? They're not dirty." She didn't even look to see the blood streaks on Sam's arms and hands. "Now, back outside." Anna pushed Sam back out toward the door. That's when she noticed. "Samara! What happened?" she sounded so sympathetic but it was only acting.
Sam began to raise her voice. "Why do you need to know? You don't f---ing care about me anyway! I'm not your dog, Anna Morgan!" she turned and walked back into the barn.
Maybe someday she would find someone to love her.