Man Or Monster

Why

Water washed down that drain as I stepped out of my very amazing shower. Water dropslets slid down my body and dripped from my blonde ringlets stopping when I tied my hair up in a smaller towel.

I ran my larger towel across my body making sure that I was dry before I stepped into my boxers and slipped my jeans on. I threw on a t-shirt and began fixing my unruly hair. I decided I needed to shave and got out my razer. I froze when I saw the gleaming metal. The reflection almost surving as a mirror into the past, one I didn't want to look into.

I watched my own face in the metal wishing that I could do simple things without being haunted by bad memories. My reflection seemed to morph into one of my younger self. I looked hopelessly at the razor, tears streaming down my cheeks. My younger self seemed to be begging that razor to help him, to save him, to free him.

I shook my head getting rid of the younger reflection of myself and reached to get my shaving cream out of the cupboard behind my mirrior. What was wrong with me? Why was all this haunting me now? Not that it didn't before it just seemed to be looming over me more now.

I had always had so many why's. First it was why was this this or why am I like this. Why's were dangerous, haunting, brutal. Over the years I've had so many why's, but in reality they were all the same questions, just in diffrent words. I've never been able to answer most of them.

Why's were dangerous. They killed and destroyed. They were the beginning of a dark dive that only death could draw you out of.

Warning: self harm (read carefully)

I look into the cracked mirror hating the tiny form that looked back at me. The bruises decorated my body in the most brutal way. I was all skin in bones, my ribs showing through my skin. I wore ripped, dirty, and old cloths. They were all I had.

I took whatever they gave me, which wasn't much. They gave me bruises, cuts, scrapes, and horrid memories, but not much else.

I spotted a silver shine out of the corner of my eye. My head tilted in confusion, and I walked forward toward the silver. I bent down hissing at the pain that shot through me as I went. My hand stretched out, reaching, reaching, reaching for the silver.

Why couldn't I reach it? (The first why)

My hand finally touch the silver thing that was hiding under a broken floorboard. I pulled my hand back swiftly has blood dripped from my finger.

I sense of control jolted through me. I had did that. Myself. Nobody else had made me hurt, but me now. The blood that dripped down my finger I had drawn on my own. I was control.

Why did I like it? (The second why)

I slipped the cut finger into my mouth sucking on it to dull the pain. The bloody metallic twisted on my tongue sending another jolt through me.

Why was this happening to me. (The third why)

My hand stretched out to grasp the silver object that had provided me release and control for a moment. It was a dark kind of pleasure one I yearned for even though I didn't understand it. A pleasure was blooming, a pleasure that I needed, I needed the control. It was a need that could kill me.