T.W.: self harm, suicide
"I'm sorry, I cant."
I freeze, "I... I understand."
I start to walk away, tears choking me. Why did I think that would work? Of course they would hate me, I was the one who left anyway.
A heavy feeling sits on my chest as I trudge home, hoping for it all to end. I open my door and fall on my bed, not bothering to kick off my shoes.
"I messed up bad." I whisper to myself.
Slowly, I reach onto my nightstand, feeling for the cold piece of metal that would end that pain. I cut. Deep. Red. I start to feel whoosy, but I continue to slice my skin open.
I stumble to the bathroom and start running the bath. Warm water starts to flow, almost as much as my wrists. I sink in, hoping to drown out everything.
I know no one will look for me. No note for no one. The only people I would have given one too, I've left. So now I die alone, in bloodied arms, with my hear in pieces.
YOU ARE READING
Flash Fictions
Short Storythis is a series of flash fictions I write whenever I get writers block on a main story or if I find a really interesting prompt. these are probably gonna be really random.
