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Cut

Cut

By novelisttobe1

Blood dribbled down my wrist spreading around the cold water. My hand clutched on to the small dagger. The blade was smothered in red blood from me. I was naked in a bathtub, cutting myself to release the crippled anger and pain in my heart. I shivered as I got out of the bathtub and reached for a lime green towel. The tub was filled with blood before slowly going down the drain. I stared at the mirror on the wall. My long black hair was in separated in two braids. My small pink lips quivered from the cold and my small nose sniffled.

"Natalia, get down here!" my dad yelled from downstairs.I hurried and took my pajamas from the bathroom floor, and put them on. I ran downstairs near the front door. My dad stood waiting for me with a doll hanging by its hair in his big hand.

"Go tie some balloons to the fence outside. Your guest will be here in about thirty minutes." I nodded my head.

. I walked around the beige colored living room and grabbed a dozen balloons. I carried outside my house and into the yard, my mother's pride and joy, and stood over the white picket fence. I looked up at my suburban neighborhood. The houses, the cars, the husbands, and everything else were the same. Don't worry we're not communist. Just another friendly dementia of what people think is normal. Everything went by quickly all of a sudden. Suddenly the balloons tied themselves to the fence. Suddenly the cake was set on a table stand in my backyard. Suddenly I did not get thirty minutes to cry in my room or stare at my cuts. Suddenly people who were supposedly just like family were being greeted by me as they murmured "Happy birthday Natalia." Suddenly I was surrounded by people in my backyard singing. They were all singing but I couldn't force myself to smile. My eyes wandered over people who were just as sad as I am. That lady in the purple tank top and cargos has had 4 miscarriages and her only son, who happens to be in my grade, is a delinquent. That man with the five-hundred dollar cashmere sweater has a wife who left him because he was never home. Then there was the lady wearing a white sundress with white leggings, holding her 2 year old daughter on her hip. She has a husband who refuses to go to rehab for his drinking problem, her oldest daughter ignores her from time to time, and a promising career...as a salon receptionist. That lady was my mom. Her unpromising life has been dedicated to this suburb and her husband but yet my appreciation for her is as low as my self-esteem. The love that I do show to her she lends to her husband instead of my real dad who actually helped set up this party. So what does it all come down to in the end? Everyone in the suburb has a cut but I'm the only one putting mine to a surface.

Two weeks has passed since the party and I feel no different from when I was 15. It's been two weeks since the party. One week since school has started. And two months since I've worn a short sleeve shirt. A shirt that doesn't cover up my cuts. The hallway of my school is different though. My school was a Catholic school until this year. Apparently we didn't have enough money or something. But it's different now. Everyone is more comfortable just walking around here and being uncivilized. Isn't high school great? I guess you're wondering why Im talking about this or why I cut. Well this is

about how secrets just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder and everyone has them. Also I don't cut because over this dull, tragic life that I have been blessed with. When my mom divorced my dad and we moved out the apartment to my mom's boyfriends house everything just collapsed. I witnessed my mom lend her love to a drunk instead of me. Of course he's a nice guy but he's not father material. Then I started to get bullied big time for little things. Life in general seemed like bullshit. But then I picked up a razor. And as blood started to escape my skin, I felt like I was escaping trouble. My cuts are like my stepdad's alcohol and I can't help but do it. I mean, sure it wouldn't be so bad if someone tried to help but no one's done it yet so maybe I'll be okay.

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About The Author
novelisttobe1
novelisttobe1
About This Story
Audience:
All Audiences
Posted:
28 Aug, 2013
Type:
Inspirational
Words:
783
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Views:
6,402

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