Trauma (Tony x Sketchbook) DISCONTINUED

Chapter 1

Sketch had nightmares ever since that horrible day she went teaching.
The memories kept flashing in her head while she was sleeping, only a little distorted. Only this time, the puppets were ripping her apart.
She always woke up panting, traumatized.
Sketchbook watched all the other inanimate objects teach the puppets about stuff (she couldn't remember anything except for one clock that caught her attention).
Stuff that she started.
It was mu fault all along.
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Sketchbook hopped down the table, into the darkness, into a room she despised.
The bathroom.
She only went there because she had some "creative" things to do.
Well.
Cutting her black stick arms?
Not so creative.
But she loved the feeling, the way the blade sliced into her stick arms.
Finally Sketchbook reached the bathroom.
Some dork left it open, making her job easier. She wouldn't have to get a chair and swing herself up to the doorknob.
She ripped off the black construction paper that had been disguising her scars.
She stared at them for a moment. Sketch had never realized she'd cut that deeply. Inky blood still dripped from them.
She let out a light laugh and chucked the papers to the floor.
Sitting beside the toilet was a silver razor.
Sketchbook plunged it into her wrist, drawing different images. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was definitely worth it.
At last she finally finished her picture. Her pages were a bit wet (her pages, not the black pages she uses to cover her arms), but still.
Sketchbook wrapped the crisp black pages around her arms, which were leaking of inky blood.
She wasn't aware of the sounds of ticking getting near the bathroom.

"Now I know why the razor's always coated with blood."