I was stretched out on my sofa. Chips and soda were strewn all over the table. My eyes were glued to the television but I was hardly absorbing anything. Suddenly, I heard the doorbell.

“Oh, what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. We had a big argument. I slapped him. He pushed me onto the bed.

Hours later, I sat on my bed in a daze. I was shivering and tired from crying. I lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. The penknife on my table caught my eye. Without much thought, I walked towards it.

My skin split apart and blood oozed out. Each cut got deeper and I didn’t quite stop until there were more than 10 lines on my wrist. Funny how it didn’t hurt at all. I laid on the floor wondering if it was real, if I were real.

Then I realised I was hurting. Deep inside I was. So badly. I closed my eyes. “How do you mend a broken heart?”

shadows of death;
clarice