James Mandarin

Laptop Screen

I hate Tumblr. It's a world of words, photographs and gifs. It's full of girls wishing to be thin and boys wishing they had six packs. Suicide quotes fill every corner of my screen and black and white photos take up the limited space on my dashboard.

I hate Tumblr. Even worse, I hate the people who look for attention.

There are some things in life I will never understand and one of them is why people take videos of themselves cutting and put it on the internet for all to see, like and reblog.

Is it a pastime for some? Is it just like reading a book or going out shopping?

My heart falls to the pit of my chest when I see a video of someone cutting. How can someone do that? How can someone cut for everyone to see?

My head pounds until it hurts. My arm burns as it begs for pain. I slam my laptop shut.

What does the girl on my screen feel as she cuts? How does the camera feel? How do I feel?

Is she really just like me, or is it a popularity stunt? I've heard of people pretending to be emotionally troubled just to become popular.

I lay back on my bed and stare longingly at the ceiling, trying to forget. Forgetting is hard, difficult. When I try too hard, the memories remain. It's like holding your breath for a long time. As you do it, your mind keeps on reminding you of the fact you need to breathe.

You have to breathe.

Without breathing, you'll die.

I can't stop remembering. I try reaching paradise, but the darkness pulls me away.

The razor is in the bathroom. The walls are waiting for me. My wrists want attention. My soul needs release.

Fuck this.

I get up and grab my art set. I open my curtains and watch as a burst of sunlight settles in my room. I set up my art stand and place a blank canvas on it. Tubes of paint as hastily pressed down to be placed on the paint pallet. I grab my brushes and the pallet. I don't bother wearing overalls.

I need to do this.

I have to do this.

With a quick stroke, I begin. Colours merge and blend together. Shades of blue, green, yellow, white, orange and grey fill the canvas. I don't use red in my paintings. I don't want to think of blood.

The sun sets and the room darkens. I don't care. I have to finish the painting. I need to finish the painting. The moon takes its place in the dark sky as a knock sounds on my door.

I ignore it.

"James? James are you in there?" It's mum again.

More strokes are made on the canvas and my arms ache. My eyes bulge out of my sockets. My toes are numb.

"James? James are you in there?"

"Go away," I mutter between my teeth.

I stop. The paintbrush falls to the carpet. I take a step back and look at my work.

Sullen blue eyes stare back at mine. The forest mocks him from within. He stands at an awkward angle. His laces are undone. Arrows pierce is chest.

Help me. The boy cries. Save me.

I can do nothing but stare.

A knock sounds on the door. "Hurry up James, it's dinner time."