Nail Me Down *Sora's Challenge*

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
thoughts of suicide gone wrong. K is for Kill.

Submitted: May 25, 2009

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Submitted: May 25, 2009

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How would I do this? Knives, gun, rope? Perhaps an overdose would be more appropriate; so I can suffer. So I can get what I asked for: the ripping of my muscles and the tearing of my soul, my heart. After all, it’s not like it matters now I go. Just that I do indeed, go.
 
I’m not a masochist. I don’t want to feel the emotional pain and suffering I endure. Physical, well, that’s a different story. My body can take most, the physical scars can fade or remind. It’s the memory that haunts. Remembering who I am and what I’m capable of doing. That’s what scares me.
 
A gun might be too tricky, and expensive. I just want things to go quickly. Bullets went quick, but actions could be delayed and I don’t need any of that.
 
Might I slice off my wrist? Should I leave a note saying how sorry I am, when all I really feel is relief of the end? Maybe just and accidental stabbing through my heart, a simple piercing?
 
But no. I’ll do this the right way.
 
Grabbing the pills, I was prepared to swallow the contents when my insignificant sister walked up the steps. Her beautiful face carved with joy. Sick. I didn’t want to kill her, I had to. Play it innocent, play it nice. Do it right.
 
“Hey Kate? Did you-“  cut off, she say the knife. I could see the terror stain her face, flicker in her eyes, straighten her figure. She began to run.
 
But oh, how sad, she just couldn’t make it that far. How weak. How pathetic. The dull knife sank deep into her flesh, into her heart. Crimson blood poured out, like my soul was sinking fast, my humanity was fading. Her blank eyes stared into me, trying to understand.
 
“How could you?” she whispered, and I would hear the gurgle of blood in her throat, drowning her. How could I? How could I? I slapped her across the face. But she felt nothing. She was already dead. I smiled. Well, good, she didn’t deserve the pain inflicted on her face.
 
Why couldn’t she just have understood? Said hi in school, introduced me to others, instead of walking away? She was my sister. Had she no feelings? My smile faded.
 
I dragged her body across the floor and left her bleeding; her face still staring up, her eyes still open, but empty and vacant, like her heart. The carpet was dark with blood anyway. Now, my turn.
 
Deciding against the pills, I picked up the wet blade; slick with her blood. No matter, it would get filthy anyway, no need to clean it. My wrist was waiting. And I can’t prolong that wait, now can I?
 
Cutting swiftly, I felt no pain. My life was already gone; taken from me, like the rest of my belongings. Cutting again, I felt nothing. My emotions were washed dry, like a thundering storm commanded quiet. My mind understood my actions and went with the suffering.
 
My need to end my life faster, my sick deed of selfishness, was all I desired. Walking slowly to my room, I grabbed rusty nails and dug them up my arm, into my cuts, blood pouring down my palm. Now I felt something. That was all I ever really wanted, to feel. Sting sharper than sin shot through me. Mmm, this was what I wanted. Poison seeping into my vein turned to brilliant sparks of passion. My body infected, my heart torn, my soul shattered, I smiled.
 
My feet were soaked in blood, my blood this time. I was getting weaker, my vision fading. I didn’t feel any regret, no regret at all. I didn’t have time to write a note. No time. I didn’t want to anyway. It wouldn’t matter and I wouldn’t be able to write what I wanted anyway. Nothing mattered. No one cared. I wanted this.
 
I was going, going…gone.


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