The First Cut

As the nurse promised, I'm on my way home the next morning. Before I 'woke up' I overheard the nurses talking with my dad, they were telling him about the psychiatrist they wanted me to talk with. They said it was some guy named Sherman. While they were talking dad didn't say anything, I suppose he was nodding his head in agreement even though he's not going to send me.

Now, I'm sitting in the torn leather passenger seat of my dad's 1990 Ford truck. Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved this truck. The peeling grey paint and torn seats always appealed to me, I always believed that the truck had seen better days, but now is just as broken as I am. Under the passenger seats, dad has always had a gun hid along with a few knives. Sometimes, I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night just to come sit in the truck. I would then get the gun and one of the knives from under the seat and clean them; those nights were the ones I would wake up suppressing a scream, my dreams on those nights were absolute nightmares.

Dad turns into our driveway, opens his door, and goes into the house. I stay inside the truck a moment before getting out and going through the gate to the back of the house and the woods beyond. Our house is in the middle of nowhere, it's a victorian style house in the middle of a farm. Our farm is one of the biggest in the state, the woods make up most of it though.

I run to the woods and keep going into its depths. Small animals run when they hear me coming, pounding my feet along the mossy earth. The trees' thick leaves block out most of the sunlight from reaching the floor of the woods, but enough sunlight makes its way through for you to see where your going. I continue through the familiar part of the woods, straight to the clearing with the pond in the center.

When I want to get away from the world and everyone in it, I come to the pond. The pond has always been my safe haven from everything. I usually wade into the shallow side of it, but not today. Today, I dive right into the deep end. As soon as I hit the water, I realize it was a mistake. The bandages on my wrists don't hold back the water, and pain suddenly overcomes both my arms. What have I just done, I am so stupid!

My wrists feel like they're forcing my whole body to feel their pain, and it seems as if it does. I can't stand to move my arms in order to swim to the bank and climb out, I'm going to die here. As bad as I don't want to die at my favorite place to be alone, I will. Right here, and right now.