Blaze Davis is the girl in the shadows. The one no one notices but if given a chance, could light up your world with a personality as unique as the scars adorning her body like damaged armour. She has secrets no one knows and hidden beneath that mas...
"The funeral pyre burnt with with both her ashes and the flickering flames of destruction. Rhapsodies of death crooned from her charred skin."
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🙪 K i a r a 🙪
tw: suicidal thoughts & self-harm + extremely long chapter
━━━50 days until death━━━
The Butterfly Effect.
It was something that had fascinated me for a long time. My mind always conjured about various examples of it. I believed there was something more to it than the example of a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a typhoon several oceans away.
Right now, I wondered if the blood pooling on my arms would satiate a vampire in an alternate dimension or if the tears dripping from my eyes would cause a tsunami multiple continents away.
Staring at the crusted blood, a recurring thought ran through my mind- What was I doing to myself?
It's not like anyone would notice.
How long are you going to fight?
"Shut up," I yelled at my reflection, the voices only rising in my head with the protests.
"Just shut up," I dragged my fingers across my face, leaving a crimson trail behind as the blood streaked across my skin.
I hated what I saw in the mirror, my skin crawled with the claws of the monsters inside.
I wished I knew when they first started, but pinpointing the exact moment would be like trying to locate a needle in a haystack. All I remembered was hearing a tiny voice a few months back while comparing myself to others.
As time progressed, so did their number and amplitude. They fed off my insecurities and sucked the life off my bones. I had never felt so helpless.
They slithered in like silent reptiles, sinking their fangs into the folds of my brain. Their entrance was quiet yet they were the only thing I heard now.
It seemed pathetic, giving in to fictional parts of my mind, but I was fighting a losing battle.
One glance at my razor assured me that one swipe was all it would take to end it all. But then it would take too long to bleed out, and in that waiting period, I would once again hear the sounds I wanted to escape.
No, I needed to find another way.
Washing my face, I stashed my blade back in its hiding place and pulled my sleeves down. Sitting down on the bathroom floor, I thought of painless ways to die. I needed those final moments to be mine, not theirs.
