alone ;

girlALONED#

note: this is my first work of fiction. It has rather suicidal themes and such – and seriously speaking, I don't know how this will turn out. Suggestions for the ending please put it in your review. And also, I am not really sure under what rating should it beput under. Please reflect this tome. Thanks.

Summary: as I have mentioned, I do not know how it will end but ; the rough idea is that Hermione is sick and tired of her parents' constant quarrels and threats to divorce, often pulling her into the fight. She is a morbid cutter, yet she shuns away from the severity of this truth. She chooses to run away from reality – but she knows deep inside her – that she would need to face the music one day.

disclaimer: nothing belongs to me ; except this rather cliche story plot.

prologue.

Her brown eyes wandered to the frosted panes of the glass, evoking memories in her mind. She stretched out a scarred hand and stroked the glass gently. Against her pale skin were the several multitudes of scars – in an array of colours. The faded pink of the old scars, the flamboyant blood red of the newly etched ones – they all laid on her arms, her wrists, and her hands… all by her own.

Her scars, her memories.

As she sat on the rickety oak chair, she began to think. Thoughts ran around her mind, as though a freaky dance of circles twisting and turning, molding into shape. Just like the circles, they never seemed to have an end; they just keep hounding her. She could hear to their voices going on and on, she could go crazy just listening to their irritating tone. She never knew it, but she was the mice being led by her OWN Piper's tune. She was the one trapping herself in her own dark abyss, her own deep gyves, and the one refusing to face the reality.

She turned her head slowly, and looked around her. There was no one, just a deafening silence. Coldness. Isolation. Silence. In her room, the door which had been so steadfastly locked, she could feel security. Just by being alone. She got up, drawn the curtains to the side and stared blankly into the night sky. It was beautiful indeed, in a deep midnight hue with a little sprinkling of stars – as though a diamond in the rough. It was an irony – how could she enjoy the scenery when so much is happening around her? Maybe it is because in HER room, there is only one thing that mattered. That, is her. She wouldn't care for the others. As long as the door to the outside world was locked, she was at peace.

She hoisted herself up the windowsill, unlocked the grills and sat on the parapet. She reached for her penknife in her pocket – pondered for a while before letting the cool metal come in contact with her skin. She scanned her arms for an available space. Gripping the penknife tightly, she drew it in her skin, and made a mark – and instantly from her lips escaped a sigh of relief.

The stainless steel of the blade soaked up the blood thirstily, but she wasn't satisfied. She was addicted to this form of release, addicted so much to it that the meagre pain wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough. The blood trickled down from her fresh cut, which was positioned below the main vein of her wrist, and she licked it up.

Putting down her penknife, she looked down at the tiny people below her feet. Should she jump?

She could run away from her problems. Despite what everybody looked her up to, as that smart-ass bookworm, that run-in with Malfoy… she was an emotionally struggling teenager. A teenager struggling with family problems and with life. Oh sure, she had the cream of the cake with teachers, but deep inside her – she knew she wanted to have a happy family, one she never had.

Family? Oh sure, she knew what was that about. But she had to learn how to rebel. How to talk. If she was deaf, she need not hear the hurtful words her mother hurled at her. If she was mute, she could not argue back and would have saved a lot of the people in the family from its crisis now.

Her head started its violent outrage on her, and started to pound her with thoughts of the past. She could remember – remember scenes that play through her head like a bad movie. How her mother threatened to kill her and such.

Popping a couple of sleeping pills in her mouth and gulping it down with a few sips of water, Hermione rested her weary head on the pillow, not daring to hope for what will happen tomorrow.

;triple hearts !

author's words: how was it? Please review and give me some ideas on how to end it. Drop me an email if you like ; and seriously tell me how you feel about this fic. Was it well written?