My wrists bled in beautiful red pearls as the blood dripped down my arms. Before crashing into the flood, they left behind pale trails. I licked away the last of the blood with my tongue. The delicious metallic taste filled my mouth. I grinned as my tongue rubbed against the sores. My body tingled from the scorching pain. Slowly, I raised my gaze to the mirror in front of me.
The woman who returned my gaze was skeletal and pale. My chapped lips were stained with blood, and I smeared them on with my index finger as I reached up. When my lips turned that red, it felt like I was in a fairy tale. My chin was red with blood. I longed for my trademark red lips, so I stabbed them with the knife. The blade cut through the skin cleanly, allowing me to dredge it to the other side without difficulty. It hurt a lot because of the deep cut. My grin exacerbated the discomfort by allowing the wound to widen even further.
My chin was covered in blood by this point. It had the appearance of a wet beard. My bottom lip was licked. As the saliva and blood mixed, I got a sour taste in my mouth. My lips burned. When I smiled, the agony got worse for me. With each twitch of a muscle, I could feel my lip ripping open.
I had the thought: Do I resemble the Joker?
I couldn't help but crack a big grin at this. One of my all-time favorite superheroes was Batman's alter ego, The Joker. I had the impression there was genuine sadness lurking beneath his maniacal exterior. Sadness on a par with my own.
My mind was filled with flashbacks to the fire. My sister's lifeless body lay in the path of the flames. Sadly, she was my family's last surviving member. She was...gone. My heart was pierced by a sharp pain. My eyes welled up, but I quickly wiped them away. I didn't want to see them. Tears couldn't make her return any faster.
What had I done to deserve to be such a fool?
My stomach churned with rage. I drew the knife and slashed my leg with it with such force that it startled me. As a form of punishment, I repeatedly brought it down. My fault, she was missing. Mine! It was my fault she was killed, not hers! I don't think so, Sandra!
There was blood all over the place. As I gaze at my shin, the blood rushes to my face. Looking at her, I could tell she was beyond repair. The blood didn't bother me because I'd cut myself before—almost daily after Sandra died. He died from deep cuts. This was the furthest I'd ever gone in my life.
Tears of fear fill my eyes as I peer back at the reflection in the mirror. A bloodied girl returns my gaze. The knife clatters to the ground as I let it slip from my grip. My chest screams in pain. Sadness, fear, and rage were all rushing through me. No matter how hard I try to keep the tears away, they've blurred my vision. I grab hold of the nearest object and hurl it at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. As the glass hits it, it breaks apart. I see a shattered image of myself in the mirror.
My blood-stained floor was littered with mirror shards. With my bare heel, I trample over each pebble. My skin has been sliced open by the glass. Because I'd never had my foot cut open before, it was both painful and excruciating at the same time. For the first time in my life, I was experiencing severe discomfort. I trip and fall into a puddle of whisky I spilled earlier in the day as I retreat from the glass. As the whisky and blood mixed, a horrifying shriek erupted. It was then that I realized who had broken my prized silence: me. I frantically searched the room.
My entire body shook. I clamped my mouth shut in an attempt to stop the sobs. After a brief moment of serenity, I was able to lift my foot to examine it. I immediately felt guilty for doing it. My lungs were completely empty. I collapse to the floor, a jumble of limbs and organs. I lay there, my body was still swollen and bleeding from numerous injuries. I was devoid of sensation. The only thing left in me was misery. Sandra was nowhere to be found. I'd be there shortly after that. My eyelids are getting heavier and heavier as the day goes on. It's as if the lights go out in my room.
There are no real people or places in this story; everything is made up.