Five Stories of Pain and Memory

1

She couldn’t understand. She didn’t even try. She didn’t even what this!! No way would she ever want her best friend, her sister by heart and Christ, to yell at her and call an action seeker.  This had happened before in that one chat room.  When she talked about how she felt.  They said to stop with the action. And other mean things.  This was when she decided to live with the pain, instead of just showing it in words.  2

She went to the bottom of her classes.  The lower levels of elementary school society. The year was almost over, so it didn’t matter much. The next year was in junior high school.  Just in time, too, she thought.  She decided to get that one knife in the kitchen.  She cut open her arm.  The pain came and she winced. It hurt, too.  But this pain was…good. 3

The summer came, and her cut healed.  It was just too obvious, being in her bikini with lines on her arms.  Well she could say it was her cat, which she did.  Then school came.  And no one knew, no one knew.  They would never know.4

She had always lived like this. Nothing was new.  And it was time for some of the changes to happen anyways. She discovered from an online journal, or blog, about cutting. She found out how to harvest the blades from razor for her legs and armpits.  If you cut or bend or crush the holder of the head of the blade, she read, you can easily get out the blades.  5

This change was different from being abused and threatened by her father and, sometimes, mother.  It wasn’t just her.  Her little sister got threatened, too.  The threat were punches for forgetting to shut the window and letting in those blooding insects. 6

It was no different than hiding the bruises and bumps.  Hiding those little red lines, as well as everything else. Yes, no one would know what lay beyond the long sleeves.7

This change, in her mind, was good.  Only one person knew, her sister.  She had told her parents, but they didn’t care.  And she doubted that her friends would either.  It seemed as if no one did.8

Her live has always been good.  Her little brother and big brother had always been there for her.  Her friends were good.  And her parents never abused her.  She always got what she wanted.  And even had good grades.  She was perfect.  Or was she?9

But she only had one friend, and she was in the same grade as her brother.  She didn’t get to see the older girl most of the time. But when she did, the girl always seemed too busy.10

The teachers didn’t act like they liked her either.  Her parents didn't care if her brother got low grades, even failing ones.  They would yelled and complain to her when she got low grades.  11

Her mum was a drunk. Her father was always in an affair. And she wanted more out of life.12

She met these girls and boys one day.  They welcomed her.  She invited that one girl in her brother’s class.  They new friends didn’t like to old friend.  So she began to hate the girl.  She had planed to kill her.  But she didn’t have the courage to.  She ran home one day, in tears.  Her parent had decided not to ask, since her brothers both had blown up at them when they did.  13

She was in her room, alone. She was in the school bathroom, alone.  Counting down the days with her nails in her flesh to when she would kill her first friend.  The friend who still loved her like a sister. The friend who had already forgiven her.  And no one knew, no one knew.14

There was another girl.  One on swim team.  One who had lots of friends, but only a few good friends.  Her parents were always so clueless. So was her younger sister.  Most of the time she was quite alone.  Her good friends didn’t go to her school.  And they hardly ever came over.  Her grades were average, just as she was.  15

She found a random note in her locker.  Probably someone who just got the locker mixed up.  Who would be writing to her, anyways?  She read it. Over and over.  And even over again.  Then over once more.  Just as over as her life should be, just as the note said.  She found another note on the floor of the lunch room that same day.  It read; hello unknown person of lower society.  Boy, they got that right, she thought.  Here’s an idea, it continued, crack open a pencil sharpener and unscrew to sharpener blade, and take it out.  She did that.  But she wondered what to do next.  She thought of her pain, deep and dark.  Well hidden for so long.  Not spoken of in an eternity. She turned up her stereo loud. And started to scream.  Then she dove for her pocket knife and to newly found razor and began to slit and tear, cut and fracture her arms and legs.16

Even though she was on swim team, no one ever thought that it was what it really was.  It just wasn’t like her. It wasn’t her to cut…but who were they to judge they didn’t even know her. Maybe it just wasn’t her to cut…or was it?17

The first celloist of the school orcastra was best friends with the first violinist.  In fact, they were so close, some people new to the school thought that they were going out on dates and stuff!!  But it was never like that.  Was she sits in her room, she thinks of this. And all the practises she and her violinist friend had.  He was only younger by a couple of months.  Along with three other guys and one other girl (this was who he was going out with really and not the celloist), they had discovered loads of information on witch-craft, even dark magic.  He was a Wicca. But she wasn’t.  Now they all sat in a circle in the middle of her room.  The tears were streaming into a goblet that he had brought.  All their tears would mix, and each of them would have a little bit of the liquid.  They would never drink it, but keep it with them to remember each other forever. 18

She was sitting in the room of her new house now, her last memory of her friends behind her now.  It had been her first day of school, and already she knew this year was gonna be a shitty hell of loneliness for her without her friend there to laugh with, to joke with, to do everything with.  Her inner circle was gone and broken away.  And to make things worse, her parents seemed overjoyed to keep all contact with her friends in her old country down and away.  19

With no other way to express herself, and since she was silenced, she reached toward her school book bag.  She took out the bag for her school supplies.  Unzipped it slowly.  And quickly dropped it.  No, she whispered, no…not again.  20

The next day she walked home in the pouring rain in tears.  She sneaked into her room to avoid all contact with her parent.  Being an only child, she had never had any siblings to bicker with or to annoy / annoy her.  She ran to her room, turned on her Mozart CD that her school orcastra played and made.  She took out her pretty pink scissors from her book bag for her school books and supplies.  She rolled up her sleeves.  And then, she began again.21

And no one saw her do it, or saw the lines. And no one heard her scream out in agony, defeat and pain.  And no one eve knew.   Or laid down a care about it.22

Her loneliness had consumed her…and no one knew.23