the moonlight shining through her slatted window illuminated
the criss cross of cuts and scars over her naked body. she
was bruised, bloody, beaten, yet there was still life in her
mutilated body. with the little amount of strength posessed
she pulled herself up and covered herself with a cold
blanket, trying to stop the blood and soothe the dull
throbbing in every limb. yet she knew the cuts ran deeper,
not just surface wounds, traumatic and scarring memories and
thoughts now etched in her mind. she shivered as her hand
ran over her cuts, sinking back into the shadow, a look of
revulsion on her face. she could sense things going wrong,
it all seemed so fake, like a tiresome act, yet she carried
on. ever deeper she fell, ever more bound to this single
entity, believing and needing, wanting and trusting,
dreaming and acting. yet she was still alone. left as she
should be. edging ever closer to the switchblade the
attacker had dropped, she flung her hand out and took it.
with a short look heavenwards and a silent prayer, she
plunged it into her chest, right through her heart. a heart
so racked with guilt and memories could never be fixed and
now nobody would ever have the chance.