A Reflection Can Kill

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this awhile ago. Its very, very, VERY dark.


Submitted: July 11, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 11, 2008



A Reflection Can Kill
That woman stood by the edge of the river staring down at her blurred reflection with a knife in her hand. She was ugly. She was hideous. She was gruesome. How could anyone like her live a normal life when they could easily pass for some grisly monster? She was fat and she had pimples and her hair was dull and she didn’t have those gorgeous eyes that all the models have on the television. She lived all by herself and the only person she really talked to didn’t really like her that much.
She looked down at the knife. There was blood. She looked down at her wrist. There were gashes. She looked at reflection, her gruesome, deformed reflection. She took the knife to her face. She pressed down. She slid it down her face. She felt the blood run down her cheek. She didn’t feel the pain though. She kept cutting, maybe then she will be pretty. Maybe then she will be able to compare herself to her friends without making herself feel bad. She smiled a horribly sincere smile. She kept cutting and cutting and cutting. She didn’t even notice the blood drops fall into the river, contorting her reflection even more.  She stopped at her face and started at her wrist.
She slowly but surely started cutting away at her life. She cut past the vein, until she reached the bone. Then she just laid there. She dipped her wrist into the river, turning it a disturbingly bright red. She laughed a relieved laughed. She knew that she was going somewhere where she would be beautiful; where she would be pretty and happy.
And with those thoughts in her mind, she closed her eyes and died.
Later, the police came. They found a very pretty girl.
She had light, blonde hair. Even though small twigs and leaves were tangled in it, her hair was still shiny and gorgeous. Her face was pale, but in an angelic way. Too bad it was almost completely hidden by the cuts. She had startling blue eyes that sadness and depression poured out from. It was enough to make them cry. She was dressed in a little white dress that was soaked in blood from her tiny little wrist. The police cringed at the sight of her wrist. The place that she had dipped her wrist in was still crimson with blood. The river wanted her to be remembered for as long as she could. When they lifted her poor, mutilated wrist and realized how far she actually went. They could see her pale bone as clear as day. A police sighed, another wiped away a tear. The chief called for someone to get her off the ground.
A few minutes later, a boy came running towards them. He was shouting hysterically, “Crystal, I loved you! Why!?” This was the friend who she thought didn’t like her. She was right, he didn’t like her---he loved her. The boy held onto her lifeless hand and cried for a long time. The police had to pull him away so they could finish their job. He wouldn’t let them. He noticed that she had written, no, cut a message into her arm. He gasped when he read what it said:


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