The Other Girl Inside

The clock is ticking, time is running out. The little girl sat in a stall in the school's bathroom. Her hands are shaky, her palms are wet, she's shivering. Those painkillers didn't do much good, her heart is still pounding and it's beating faster by the second. The first bell rang; she still has some time”not that much but still some. She ruffled through her purse looking for those lingering pieces of glass from last night, hoping the edges are not too dull by now. She pressed the sharpest edge down her wrist, hoping to draw some blood seeping through. Nothing. She throws the glass down with frustration; she failed what she wanted to do. This depresses her further. She closes her eyes; her twisted mind is trying to come up with other ways to ease the tension in her heart. The stress is pounding on every corner of her skin. She glances at the piece of glass in the floor and grabs it, she held it close to her body and uttered, "I'm sorry, my dear. The glass is her only companion and she felt guilty for tossing it aside. She heard footsteps”someone's coming. She listens. Those preppy girls are coming in for their lunch time make-up session. She desperately presses the glass into her skin, this time harder and with much more force. She opened her eyes, blood at last”although not much but at least it's something. She worked around her wound and repeatedly cut into the incision making it deeper and drawing even more blood. She felt calm and peaceful. Her heart is at peace. She kisses the glass and put it back into her bag and quickly flushes the toilet to deceive others that she wasn't doing something so evil. She unlocks the bathroom door and joins her preppy friends in a lunch time make up session.