• WARNING!!! Depicts self-harm and suicide. Please don't read if these are touchy subjects for you and I'm sorry if it offends anyone.


    My goal once again was to last the day without serious incident. I would go through the motions of simple day-to-day life, hoping no one around me noticed the darkness in my eyes as I shuffled through my dreary existence.

    Life was not meant to be this way. Not for an elf.

    As I sat on the edge of the riverbank, I sighed heavily as I looked around at the other elves. The sound of elflings laughing and enjoying their freedom, friends talking rapidly about simple subjects, couples enjoying their time together – their lives still seemed trivial in comparison to mine. While their lives were bright and full of joy, mine was dark and morbid, spent trying to go on patrols simply to get in the way of the orcs so I could end this all with no confrontation, no suspicion.

    I gave up on the riverbank and retreated to my quarters in the northern part of the house. I closed and locked the heavy door to my rooms before I drew the curtains closed and lay down across the bed, my arms outstretched as if I were being crucified.

    I thought over how my life had gotten to this point; that I would rather live in a cave than live in the forest with my family and friends. Nothing seemed worthy of my attention these days, nothing but the blades that drew my blood at the end of each grueling day.

    I would draw four incisions reaching from the join of my hand and wrist to the crease of my elbow on each arm and depending how deep the depression was, sometimes my stomach would face the trauma as well. I would then fall asleep hoping I would wake up in the healing wing just enough to hear the healers utter the words, “he’s not going to make it”.

    I didn’t want to make it this time as I seemed to fall into some kind of trance. I rose from my bed like a vampire rose from their coffin at the rise of the moon. I pulled off my shirt, tossing it to the side before I crossed to the chest of drawers, retrieving the blood stained knives.

    I stepped back until I could see myself in the full length mirror hanging on the wall. I looked pale and hollowed out, the severe scarring on my arms and stomach shining slightly. I looked down at my bare skin before I pressed the knife into the skin of my arm and jerked it slightly, gasping in pain as the blood seeped from the wound, more quickly than I had expected.

    I repeated the process numerous times until I couldn’t see any skin on my arms or stomach, just the constant flow of red, red blood. I vaguely recognized myself falling to the floor with a heavy thump, the knife flying from my hand across the floor with a metallic screech.

    As my eyes drifted closed and my life finally slipped away, I heard the door open and my brother’s terrified scream: “‘TYRONE!”

    End notes: Morbid, disgusting and reason enough to question my insanity but I like writing this kind of stuff. And it's better to get angry at my characters than to get angry at myself or other people in real life, don't you agree? I hope you liked it and thank you for reading smile