In Progress Emoshots

Just a very short little one-shot.

She lay there, on the cold kitchen tiles, staring at her arm. The marks were still there, brown against the pale skin of her forearm. The girl glanced at her nails, sharp and dirty. She smiled, and ran her thumb across the edges before gripping her left forearm tightly with her right hand. She tensed, digging her nails into flesh, twisting hard. After a minute or so, she released her arm. There was no blood. There was never any blood. The girl let her gaze drift up to the knives on the dish-rack. Her eyes closed slowly. No one will ever know. Not until it's too late.

It scared her, how easily she could imagine it. Standing, slowly. Taking a knife. It scared her how she could imagine the knife. Sliding across her skin, leaving a trail of blood.

The girl stood. Her eyes opened. She turned and slowly, slowly, she walked to the dish-rack. Calmly, certainly, she took a knife. Turned it over in her hand. The girl sank back to the ground with a sigh. She looked at the knife. It gleamed dully with the light from the streetlamps on the road outside. Taking the knife in one hand, she drew it across her palm. Crimson blood flowed over her hand, soothing and metallic. The girl raised the knife to her throat.

She couldn't to this. Not after everything she'd promised. Lauren. The horrified expression on her friend's face the first time she had seen the nail-marks. The first time she had told anyone. Lauren. Lauren had made her promise. 'Never use knives. Never.' She felt a ripple of guilt. Lauren. Lauren and Sophie. Sophie had helped her. Helped her through everything. She couldn't do this to either of them. She couldn't do this to herself.

Cautiously, the girl stood once more. Cautiously, the girl stood once more. She put the knife back warily, taking a deep breath. Without a sound, she lay back down on the floor, gazing at the ceiling. Never.

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This is good. Where did the inspiration come from?

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Luxcario said:

This is good. Where did the inspiration come from?

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I was thinking about what would happen if I ever got depressed :/

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This reminds me of what we talked about.
And of my own inner demons.

Do us both a favor and don't get depressed.

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A sort of follow-up to the first story:

She leaned against the fence, a thick novel in her hand. She was getting better. That's what they told her. Sophie, Lauren, even Cole had mentioned that the marks were fading. She wondered about that. Cole was the one who had first made her start. The one who made her claw herself.

She was in the band room. Behind the huge pillar. She piled her books onto a shelf and grabbed her music folder. As she turned toward her band locker, Cole came. He shoved her, hard. She fell, stumbling back. Her shoulder hit the edge of the shelf. Slowly, she stood, locking her narrowed eyes with Cole's. Her shoulders pulled back. Her weight shifted. Cole turned away to grab his baritone. As he reached up to his locker, his sleeve fell, exposing his arm. She darted forward and seized it, digging her nails in, hard. She twisted his arm, eyes cold and hard. "Don't," she hissed. The boy swore and nodded. She released his arm and calmly went to retrieve her flute.

After the first incident, he had asked her to claw him again, insisting that it didn't hurt. That he enjoyed it.

But she was proud. She couldn't let Cole show her up, not like this. And so she had tried it. Sinking her nails in, squeezing hard. She had been surprised to find that it was rather enjoyable. The pain was like fire at first, searing, but gradually it became a dull ache, like pressing on a bruise.

She sighed. Fighting the sense of betrayal, she grabbed her arm. She felt her nails sinking into her forearm and smiled.

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/Story stalk

Liking the whole twist on one aspect of your life thing.

This may convince me to get around to writing something that's been rolling around in my head for a while.

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Love the writing, but:

Crimson blood flowed over her hand, cool and metallic.

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Blood wouldn't be cool unless she (you?) were dead or a vampire or something.

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Ah, thank you.

EDIt: Finished the second one.

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Ok, so when depressed, your Emo.

Interesting story, =P

Very relatable to emo kids everywere. =D

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DarkAura said:

Ok, so when depressed, your Emo.
Interesting story, =P
Very relatable to emo kids everywere. =D

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This is rude and full of grammer mistakes.

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Emo kids do cut themselves. It is an interesting story. I havent heard one like this yet that is also descriptive. Summarizing what Ever had said, the main character (from which ever said she made the story wondering if she was depressed, i figured the main character represents her depressed side) cuts herself for the enjoyment (Emo kids do that too)

Forgive me if there is another word to say other than emo, because i do not know a nother word like that that isnt rude.

Please forgive me if that post sounded rude. I did not intend it to be.

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DarkAura said:

Emo kids do cut themselves. It is an interesting story. I havent heard one like this yet that is also descriptive. Summarizing what Ever had said, the main character (from which ever said she made the story wondering if she was depressed, i figured the main character represents her depressed side) cuts herself for the enjoyment (Emo kids do that too)

Forgive me if there is another word to say other than emo, because i do not know a nother word like that that isnt rude.

Please forgive me if that post sounded rude. I did not intend it to be.

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I wouldn't say I'm "emo". I actually wrote this story about what I think might happen if I ever did become depressed, but I know that for the time being, I am not. And I don't really like the word "emo". No offense taken, but in the future, I would suggest being a little more...considerate about such subjects.

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Everglider said:

I was thinking about what would happen if I ever got depressed :/

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OMG - EVER WITH A KNIFE!

So I know you guys probably don't care about this :P I really write these just to get the frustration and anger of my chest. I'm just going to put them in the same thread from now on. M'kay thanks.

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She curled her shoulders, head down, trying to block out the world. It was no use. The airy notes of a flute played through her head, cracking horribly on the high notes. Blank pages and F's in red ink played before her eyes. She was a failure.
The girl was angry at the world. But more than that, she was angry at herself. These things were always her fault. She knew they were her fault. So why the fuck didn't she do anything?! It was pathetic. She was pathetic.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, as if hugging herself, and dug her nails into the skin, dragging them across her back and leaving angry red scratches.
Next she turned to her arms, gouging them with her claw-like nails and peeling the skin. There would be scars tomorrow. Still, it wasn't enough.
She had been clawing at her arm for as long as she could remember. Scratching wasn't good enough anymore.
She had promised Lauren that she'd never use knives. Sophie, too. But there was no more her and Lauren. No more her and Sophie. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted now.
There was a pocket knife in the drawer beneath the bathroom sink. The girl stood from her bed and walked across the hall, shutting and locking the door behind her. She made a shallow cut along her wrist, smiling darkly as the skin reddened, then turned to her forearm. She didn't want to die yet; it was better if she stayed away from her wrists.
This time she cut deeper, stabbing and dragging the knife along her arm so that she nearly bled. Nearly. Her morbid smile grew as the stinging sensation in her arm overcame her, blocking out the pain of the real world.
Next time, she'd have to go even further.

EDIt: Not sure if I made this clear... The character is the same in all if these. Some they're loosely based on fact but J altered them a little from the actual events.