self-injury.net - Latest Short Stories

Bang

AliceUnderWater — Tue, 22 May 2012 05:36:39 +0000

Cold, broken me, showing cold, broken you my cold, broken life. I tried to share it with you. I tried to be happy... once...
Then you took that all away from me. So here I stand, gun in hand, and wonder if you'll cry after I die.
I take this cold chunk of metal in hand, and point it at my chest, right over my heart. After a moment's deliberation on whether or not to write a note, I decide that no one would really bother to read it, even if I DID leave one. So now I stand, gun cocked, in hand, and I wait for the perfect moment. I am unsure what the "perfect moment" is, I just figure that at some point I'll get ticked off enough or bored enough or this haze of pain will lift enough for me to make a decision. So I stand there. I hear my mother sneak out, trying not to wake me up as she slips out the front door to God-knows-where. I hear her car pull away. The moment... is now.
I pull the trigger. Something unlike anything I've ever felt rips though me, throwing me backwards, tearing the gun out of my hands. I manage to gasp half of a breath just before I hit the ground, flat on my back, and the wind is knocked right back out of me.
Pain, I think. I can't really tell if what I'm feeling is real or not. Am I alive? I would hope so, because this hurts too much to be death. Read more »

The Last Summer

bloomability — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 03:57:19 +0000

The smile somehow etched on her face is so obviously faked its scary. The laughter echoing all over the place so obviously forced its a scream. The song tumbling from her tongue is so obviously pained it hurts us all. The nighttime tears that dry her out are so obviously wasted we cry along. The gashes she thinks she hides well with a sleeve are so obviously watching us we can't help but stare. The hands we discreetly offer to her daily are so painfully ignored we wait, we wait, we wait.

Analise.

All legs, curves, hair, smiles and eyes, every boy follows her, including me. I, however, follow in secret, watching along with everyone else, following, waiting for disaster to arrive. We only follow because we each have our own fantasy that we will be her hero; the one who extracts her from her curse. But we all feel this will be the last summer for everybody.

I hop on my bike with my Nikon camera dangling off my shoulder and pedal down to the park where she sits and plays guitar for anyone who will stop and listen. She has her guitar case open next to her with a sign propped up by a rock with the words, "Spare happiness?" written in purple Sharpie. People stop and scrunch their eyebrows up in confusion at the sign while she sings, but I sit nearby leaning against my bike watching her fingers and mouth, entranced, ignoring the loud emptiness of the guitar case. Read more »

A Moment of Triumph

musiclover — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 23:05:42 +0000

Shelby woke up in a cold sweat. Yet another bad dream. This always seem to haunter her after her "bathroom ritual." She could see that the crimson blood had seeped threw her sleeve. "Why do I do this?" She asks herself. "What good does it do for me?" But Shelby knows why she dose it and why she feels like it benefits her. Cutting was her obsession. It was her way out of things. The blood made her feel alive when she felt dead to the world. It made her feel apart of the world that she had been isolated from. She kicks her covers off her and walks to the bathroom. "Never again, never again." she mutters as she pulls up her red stained sleeve. She runs water over her cuts. "Why, why me!" She starts to say. "Why did you pick me? Why!" she says. Filled with anger she could feel the tears welling in her eyes. "Why can't I stop. Please. Tell. Me. Why." She starts to shake. As she slowly rests her hands on her head, she falls to her knees. She had made a promise, a commitment to herself, her family and to her friends to stop. But she just can't fight it. It has won again. She has lost. So much is running in Shelby's mind. Crying on the floor she looks at the sharp piece of metal that had become her enemy. Read more »

Here We Go Again.

DearEmileeRose — Sat, 03 Mar 2012 06:45:04 +0000

Cali groaned as the raido sent out waves of angry buzzing. 6:40. 'I have to get up now if I want to make it to school on time,' she thought to herself. She contemplated hitting the snooze button once more. She checked her phone. The brightness of the screen gave her an instant headache. "Crap." She said aloud. Two missed calls. Already. 'It's too early for this,' Cali said to herself as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She hit the call back button. Zack answered on the first ring. "Where the hell have you been?" He said in a steady tone. It was filled with anger. "I overselpt." Cali responded, trying her best to wipe the sleep out of her voice. "I hate when you don't answer me, Cali. My mind wanders when you ignore me. And neither of us want my mind to wander." Zack replied. His voice was still steady. He sounded like a dad. "Okay. I'm sorry." Cali responded, trying not to voice the sarcasm that sat in her throat. "I'll be over when you get out of school. I gotta go to work, I'll talk to you later. I love you." Zack paused. He was waiting for her to say it back. Dread consumed her. "I love you too." Cali managaed to spit the words out. They were obviously insincere. Zack didn't care. He got what he wanted. Click. Cali laid back down. 'Just a few more minutes.' She thought as she closed her eyes. Read more »

almost dead

Anonymous — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 02:15:59 +0000

Pale white skin arises on my wrist
Scars string like cobwebs
Some so deep they are still red
Reminding me evreyday
Still to be ashamed, I put on a jacket
To avoid the stares
To avoid the mystic awe
To avoid the knives not only splitting my skin
But splitting relationships;the same painful infliction I have upon myself I do to others whom surround me
But all considering, I'm pretty lucky
Nobody knew the pills I popped at night
Nobody knew I consumed 2 diff meds all at once, to the bottom of the bottle
Praying for it all to end
I should be dead by now
God knows how much I wanted to be
But he gave me life & for a reason

But if I didn't have a girl on my side
I would have died
She was the reason I fought evreyday
She was the reason I had the strength to put down the razor
She was the reason I could put down the pills
If I died, I couldn't see her anymore
If I cut, my pain reflected in her eyes

It didn't mean I never used a razor
It didn't mean I was never suicidal
Urges still were greater than the cause
She had to monitor me, she had to take away my tools, she had to have me talk the truth, she had to hold me tight.

But see, she was willing to do those things
When nobody else would
She knew me for years, so she could see right through me
And what she saw wasn't pretty

I'm no longer praying to die
She has shown me the will to live
I now pray on how to life
This doesn't make me saint, perfect, or even completly recovered Read more »

Dreaming

Anonymous — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 21:14:57 +0000

I sat by the pier, toes skimming over frigid water. The moon was high in the night sky, glowing brighter than ever before. It beckoned me to plunge in to the water. I stood up, glancing at my horrid reflection in the water. My dark chocolate skin was covered in burns and scars I caused. My ribs were beginning to show through my skin-tight shirt.

I backed up to the beginning of the pier, and ran. Thump, thump, thump, thump... My feet hit the wood loudly. I jumped, I seemed to float for a moment. I stared into the face of the moon. It contorted into this evil thing. Sneering at me, it began to laugh, drowning out my screams

As I hit the glacial water, I felt something pull at my legs. I kicked and struggled against this being pulling me down. As I went farther down, my lungs felt like exploding. I took a breath and my lungs filled with water, yet it didn't hurt. When I hit the bottom, I had reached the lair of the evil being. Each cut began to reopen, each burn began to get licked by flame

I sat straight up in bed, and stared up at my ceiling. It wasn't dripping so why was I wet? I turned my head to the side. Oh! My cup had fallen over. I must've fallen asleep again.

world of magic

Hazy-Gray — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 23:02:53 +0000

There was once a little girl whose suffering and neglect ran throughout her seventeen years of her adolescent days. Her skin was pale. Her body still untouched. The softness of her dark locks still remained. She smiled to the world though she was hollow, empty and broken deep inside. 'Dont fix me.' She screamed silently as she adored her sadness. 'Im not broken.' She uttered to herself during her long sleepless nights. Dulcet and Beautiful. Glamorous and Ephemeral.

Read more »

Dancing scars

La Beaute de la Mort — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 15:39:37 +0000

I am trapped. I have been for as long as i can remember. Not physicaly trapped, but mentaly trapped. Day in and day out i try to be "normal". But i am not normal. I never will be as long as these scars dance over my arms. It will be summer soon and i will be required to cease wearing long sleeves in fear of overheating. When that happens, how will i hide these dancing scars? From experience they fade over time, but i have no time! Should i continue wearing my long sleeves? Or should i disregard the gasps and stares and wear short sleeves? I am ashamed of my scars. They show weakness. They show pain. They show me. My bloodied arm is scattered with old, brown scars, fading white scars, and fresh, new, raised, red scars. They intermingle in a complicated mess of pain. They dance tauntingly, teasing me into adding another to the tangle. I cannot tell a soul for if i do, they will gasp and stare. All these problems as a result of my scars. All these problems adding to my scars. The only solution is one that i have never once contemplated as of yet.
Suicide.
Yes, it seems horrid, but it is the only pemanent escape from the demons of life. Yes. That is the answer. Goodbye dancing scars. Goodbye everyting. Goodbye. Goodb---

a letter to my mother

amberlisha — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 05:37:56 +0000

your so lame, you bring me to shame i wouldnt even put u in a picture frame. but dame it your my mother, id rather run away you told me you wouldnt care if i was dead, here i am bleeding red, but your to busy in bed. you told me you hate me and now its to late this relationships already bate, i wouldnt even call u a mate keep going at this rate its not my fault you lost the plot told me to got rot, i hope i get shot. i hate life , you through the knive, tried to wreck my life,but your just drunk, im not a punk, you left me in the rain with all this pain i hope i get run over by a train, while im still saine, you cant even walk straight ,your talking slow it makes me feel so low, you told me to go choke, but your to busy having a smoke, the bloke gave you the cash, and you gave me a bash.

i know this is really depressing but its what my drunkin bitch of a mother did to me then, she complains that im suicidal...............well geezz i wounder why???............ what a dumb arss

Sandra

Living_day_by_day — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 04:02:55 +0000

Sandra gasped as the knife slid down her arm, watching the dark red blood run down. Feeling a sort of high she grabbed the blood stained towel and pressed it right below the cut. A tear slipped down her cheek and mixed with the blood. "Why?" Why do I do this? Looking at all the scars covering her body. Why can't I be "normal?" Another tear slipped. Standing up she walked over to her dresser and grabbed some gauze. Wrapping it around the cut she finished getting ready for school. "Hey, Sandra!" I looked up. Derek. "Hey" "Whats up?" He frowned. "Whats wrong, Sandra?" I faked a smile. "Nothing, Why does something always have to be wrong?" Taking my arm he led me over to a bench. "Because I know you. I can tell when somethings wrong. And... He held up my arm. Blood had seeped through my bandage and shirt. "This is Not Nothing." Pulling my bag around to my lap I unzipped it and took out more gauze. "Anyone watching?" Glacing around he leaned in close. "No." I re-wrapped the bandage and hoped it would be okay this time. I looked into Derek's Stormy blue eyes. Read more »