She ran because that's all she could do after witnessing something so… horrible. She ran until her lungs burned and she could taste metal in her throat and her legs couldn't move anymore. She didn't know what to do; she couldn't do anything but lay there in the middle of the forest panting. She was shutting down. Her eyes glazed over and she just wanted to forget.
"Forget forget forget forget forget forget forget forget" she muttered the word over and over again willing herself to erase the image before her eyes. An image she knew would forever be engraved in her memory. She knew she couldn't ever ignore what she just saw and move on. That's what spurred her next actions. She slowly, calculatingly yet calmly pulled out the blade which she was so acquainted with by now .She ran the blade across her skin slowly and lightly at first reveling in the small droplets of crimson blood that spilled out. Then, she sliced open her skin with such speed and precision only someone that had experience cutting could have done it with. She cut open her other wrist. Deep.
'Funny' she thought 'who would have even considered the fact that I would be familiarized with such a thing, a tragedy, an atrocity, something so reprehensible.' She knew that the people close to her must have ignored the signs. After all you don't go through a war and not notice the signs of someone struggling for their life. Someone struggling to come to grips with reality. And the reality was that she couldn't handle it. She was in the end unable to fight any longer. She felt as if she had been in a daze, a trance, a monotonous life.
She felt life slipping away from her. She felt like she was an hourglass with the last grains of sand running to the other side to be reunited with the others. Even as her life was being extinguished and she could feel death reaching its cruel hand out to her she didn't fear death, she welcomed it. She reached out her hand and practically threw herself towards it begging for it to take her.
Seeing her parent's cold lifeless desecrated bodies was the final blow leading up to the inevitable end to her story. One day people would read stories about how she snapped when she viewed her parent's bodies, about how they were the only ones she had left except for a few 'friends'. And they would mourn the loss of such a brave, intelligent, and essentially perfect girl but, they would also remember that no one could be that perfect without it coming with a price.
She'd lived a façade, a mockery of a life it was like she was in a play. She was the villain and the hero at the same time. She was the judge, executor, and the person on trial