Resurrection of a Bad Habit

November 1, 2011
She clenched the blade tighter in attempt to allow her blood to show itself, but to prevent leaving evidence of the event. Hence her dilemma.

Temptation flickered across her mind once again. If her old habit is resurrected it will be the death of her. While she’s perfectly aware of that, the idea comforts her. After all, isn’t that what she wishes—to obtain eternal rest that promises peace and prosperity? So what if she becomes the harpies’ play thing and is forever entombed in somber branches. It’s worth escaping the merciless pain.

She tries to fight the urge as she clenched the blade tighter in the palm of her hand. She felt a small prick and continued to squeeze. From experience, she was aware that the cut wasn’t deep and wouldn’t leave a trace. Nobody would have to know; it’s not like they would notice anyway.

The years of conditioning herself to fight what caused her to feel something other than the endless sorrow diminished before her eyes. She could feel the precautions that she taken beginning to falter. The person she trained herself to be was cracking on the outside, revealing the damaged person she truly is.

A tear hugged her cheek; this was her breaking point. She hiked up her cloth shorts that strategically hid the decorated lines of her past and pressed the blade across her flesh. The initial pain gave her a rush. It wasn’t much, but it was something for the time being.

She let go of her remaining inhibitions and began to slash her skin, creating more and more bitter lines. The girl paused and took a look at her work, gnawing her lip. Why did something that made her felt alive make her feel so weak?
She shut her eyes, trying to find the answer to that question as she went back to work in attempt to find herself by carving through her fleshy prison.

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