In the darkness of the night howls rose up in chorus. Lovely and sweet, lonely and terrifying. It ripped through her soul like a ragged scar across flesh. The blade she held drew a stream of crimson from a blue web of veins. She always felt better this way. Watching the blood trickle down her skin, it had a calming affect upon her. A moment of pure bloodlust flashed through her cold blue eyes. And yet strangely enough this was the most sane thing in her life. It was the one thing she could depend on. The one thing that was always there.

Despite being used to the pain, she allowed tears to flow and mix with her lifeblood. This was the easiest part of her cruel existence, the least painful. She couldn't get over the thrill of the ability to actually control something.

Sure she had friends, but what did that really mean? Life is just a social game in which some people win and some lose. You interact with those which are labeled your friends. She found if you managed to stay distant enough without actually putting any real emotion into these interactions she could avoid being hurt by these said people. Of the last true friend she had, she could not remember. For to her, a true friend was one you could spill your deepest secrets to. She wouldn't think to do that anymore, for the fear that they may shun her when they find out what she has been doing to herself. For the off-chance they may actually care. No, that would be too risky. She wouldn't dare worry someone with her problems.

So she goes on listening to others complain when they have no idea how easy their lives are. In effect, it only pushes her farther toward insanity. And at the age of 14 she had already attempted suicide seven times. Suffocation, a knife across the throat, drowning, the list goes on. But no one really cared about that. For it is quite evident she is not wanted.

Death would most definitely be easiest. For there was no one to miss her. It frustrated her at times. Why was it no one seemed able to love her?! She was like a new toy. At first you promise yourself you shall never get tired of it and treasure it forever. But as the time goes by you grow bored and eventually throw it away without a second thought. But this was worse, for every time this happened the scars dug deeper. The pain became harder to bear, and she traveled ever farther into the point of no return. She speedily grew closer to her point of breaking.

Humans are so heartless. There is not one thing they enjoy more than completely mutilating the lives of others. They will stop at nothing if it means the pure enjoyment of watching another fall apart. But she wasn't about to give them that satisfaction. She knew better. This is why she sits in her room with a finely sharpened knife with which to dull her pain. It was as if by damaging her physical self she was repairing her emotional self.

She needed to perservere. No matter how much she desired to take the easy way out, she knew she deserved this pain and she must deal with it. If she were to give up, the world would win. And never would she admit defeat, no matter how maimed her soul became. So she continues to cut.

How the blood dripping out of her wounds made her feel nothing could compare to. The thrill of coming near death was great. No drug could compete with the high it gave her. No feeling compared to that of ones soul coming within inches of leaving ones body. It was her addiction and her obsession.