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The Last Few Letters: 2Suicide.
One extremely terrible truth.
I don't have many emotions right now. Today in school, somebody grabbed my head and slammed it into a locker.
I kissed their girlfriend. I didn't even know they were dating.
I hate myself, truly I do. I can NOT stand the fact I'm different. I don't want to like guys, and I don't want to feel so insane.
I'm going to try something new, something that is permanent but isn't extremely horrible.
I'm back. I just did it, it hurt a lot.
I'll describe it I suppose.
"I held the knife steadily in my hand. Shaking a bit, nervous. Looking at my arm I felt a rush of pure adrenaline shoot through my body. I pressed it to my skin and made a sawing movement. I did it until it was red and blood finally trinkled out of my arm. It was bright crimson blood. It hurt so horribly, but now it felt numb. And I laid back on my bed, relaxing, letting the blood flow freely."
Stupid of me, huh? Not the cutting, I mean the fact that I le
The Last Few Letters: 1
I've never really thought about death.
Sure it comes to mind, I mean how can't it. But until lately, I never thought about how maybe death is NOT when you're old and have lived the good life. Now, I've been thinking maybe it could happen any time.
I'm in the 9th grade and I'm just realizing this. Pathetic, huh?
God controls life and death, he brings me into the world, he is the only one with the right to take me out.
And yet I still have the power to do it. If I so choose to, I could take a knife or noose and end it all.
Quick and easy.
I wish I wasn't thinking about death, I really do. I wish things weren't so horrible.
But things kinda suck once your whole school finds out about why you have the scars, and about how you don't only like girls "like I'm supposed to", and how at home every day my life is horrible.
When rumors like that spread, it almost doesn't seem like a huge rumor. It just seems like people are finding out the cold, horrible, truth.
And until peop
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More