Categories > Original > Drama2 Reviews
She was unhappy. [May be triggering]
Isla was a strange girl; she always preferred to be alone. The words she poured onto pages were a release from her invisible pain, as was the blood that poured from the gaps in her skin. She remembered how she used to be; happy, smiling and full of life and youth. Gradually, however, that wore away and left her miserable and bitter. She felt dead. She tried her best to feel alive again, forcing that razorblade into her pale, scarred skin. She tried her best to appear happy; she always faked a smile, no matter what. At home, she was the polite child, the one her parents were proud of, with her intelligence and her friendliness. At school, she was either being pushed around, or avoided like the plague. She was failing all of her classes and she would never speak a word to anyone. She felt like a disease that was rotting away at everyone around her.
The lesson ended, at last, and Isla darted out of the room. She ran out of the school gates and along the street; she didn’t live too far from school. After she’d fumbled with her keys for a few minutes, she unlocked her front door and slammed it behind her, hearing the laughter from the other students outside. She was glad that no one else was home; she didn’t want her family know about any of this. The teenagers outside threw objects at the door, shouting various expletives. Salty tears began to fall down her cheeks. Why did they do this to her? What had she ever done wrong to them? Stepping away from the door, the shaking girl walked gingerly up the stairs and into her room. She locked the door behind her and fell onto her bed, sobbing loudly. The pain was eating away at her, eroding her from the inside. The words that the other children spat were poison. Pure poison. Isla’s long black bangs were soon drenched in tears as she tried her hardest to stop the bitter liquid from spilling from her icy blue eyes.
Slowly, she began to regain control, and wiped her eyes. She sat up and ran her fingers through her bangs, trying to straighten them a little. She peered through her bangs at the mirror that was now directly in front of her. Her long black hair was tied with red hair ties into long, loose bunches. She viciously pulled out the hair ties, pulling out a small amount of her hair with them. She let out a scream and hurled the closest object she had to her – her television remote - at her fragile reflection. The glass shards went flying everywhere, and Isla let her weight drop off of the bed and onto the floor. Kneeling, she rolled up her hoodie sleeves and picked up a few shards. She pierced her skin with each sharp edge of each shining object before deciding which one could cut through her skin the best. She then used slashed wildly at her already butchered arms with her chosen shard, letting the red blood fall onto her cream carpet. She didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t care. With every drop of blood that stained the floor, Isla was surrendering.
The blood was flowing from her arms now, and Isla just allowed herself to lie on the uncomfortably floor on her back, which was bruised from being shoved into a locker. She watched the blood make large stains around her bleeding arms. She had no idea how many cuts there were, and no idea how many were ‘too deep’, but that was irrelevant. She could feel her strength leaving her and soon, soon, she knew she’d be gone. She was happy. She was ready to welcome death with open arms. Death was her saviour and her relief.
The safety of the simple classroom was gone. The unwelcoming, hostile corner at the back looked so empty. Another ten minutes and this class would be over. Another ten minutes. The teacher, with a sorrowful look on his face, read through Isla’s work and chose a suitable poem. He struggled to read the messy black writing and it grew harder to as he released the true meaning behind each of her sad words. The cavity at the back of the class sent chills down the spines of every person in the silent classroom. And Isla would never know that she had made them realise what they'd done.