Mistakes

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Mistakes were common with her. They came along often, leaving marks of damage on both her skin and in her heart.
She wished this mistake was like the ones mapped on her skin. She wished it could be one of those visible marks that would be questioned lightly, followed by a humourous anecdote. But no, this mistake was deep, cutting like a blade through her heart. This mistake had not a rare encounter good for small talk, but a feeling of regret so large that it hurt as much as her physical mistakes.
She remembered that certain mistake of reaching into the oven, excited by what she had produced on her own with the help of no one, but burning her hands because of no mitts. That mistake was fast and heated. This mistake was similar, yet different. The pain was slow and cold. She had reached out to that boy, her heart as bare and unprotected as her hands were on that hot tray.
But this mistake couldn’t be eased over in due time with the help of water. No, this mistake of trusting and loving those deep eyes, tall build, and seemingly perfect personality would be forever etched in her heart as her first love gone wrong.
The tears glided down her cheeks, taking their time, for there were many more to come. The emotional pain was one that was almost unbearable.
She made her way to the kitchen. Her mind kicked it: DON’T DO IT.
She ignored it. Where were you when I didn’t listen to everyone who tried to warn and agreed to that first date? she thought with sadness.
Of course there was no answer.
Her nimble fingers rummaged around the drawer until they found what they were looking for. They grasped the smooth handle of their chosen instrument and closed its confinement chamber.
She made her way up the stairs. She was in no rush. She knew the pain would still be there ten seconds later.
She settled on her emerald bedspread. The colour was too bright; too happy for her.
She noticed the picture of her with him, on a night that she had thought was so perfect. Oh, how I was so happy and naïve back then, she thought to herself bitterly.
Her latest mistake began.
The blade was held tight in her hand and slid across her wrist slowly, but surely, the pain nearly unbearable yet again, but better than before. She let the blood drip.
Realization sunk into her mind, and blood sunk in to the bright spread that had made her scowl. Faster the tears fell. There would be no telling or showing of this mistake - only more to come.





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inkblot13 said...
Nov. 9, 2011 at 7:41 pm
This was great, but I don't see how its a romance article past her pain being because of a boy. However, I loved how you compared burning her hands as a result of not wearing the oven mitts with the pain she was feeling at the present moment. That had to be the best part of it in my opinion :D Good job on everything else, the imagery you have is great.
 
Bookworm1998 replied...
Nov. 9, 2011 at 7:44 pm
yea i ws debating whether i shopuld put in realistic fiction or romance, but i chose romance because it does have a little to do with relationships and i lean towards romances/relationships in the majority of my work. thanks 4 checkin it out - likei said, it means a lot.
 
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