Broken (narrative) ...

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.