My Wrist Is My Canvas

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Zoe held me up against the military green lockers, her eyes filled with pure hatred. She glared into my icy-blues, growling but still keeping her perfect face. I felt a sudden, dull pain in my stomach and then my chest. She was punching me repeatedly, holding gaze as she did so. I however could not look at her hypnotic blue eyes. Andy ran up to her and grabbed her arm pulling it towards him. I fell to the floor in a pile of pain and misery.

 Once everyone had gotten bored and left me, I dashed to the bathroom, into the nearest stall. That’s when I broke down, crying till I was bone dry. I dug through my black messenger bag until I grabbed my black box. I opened the case and smiled at the contents. Taking the shiny object I admired it, this small object was able to take away my entire problem in just one swift movement. I watched as it danced its way across my forearm, immediately feeling the crimson liquid trickle down my pale and broken skin.

 I cleaned up and ran home. Let me introduce myself, I am Jamie, I’m 15 and have red hair and blue/grey eyes. Most say I’m ‘emo’ and my favourite colour is black.

 40 minutes later I was up the stairs locking my black glossy door. An hour later I heard the front door slam shut and heavy footsteps traveling up the stairs. My door shook with anger and I grabbed my crimson cushion and hid in the far corner. After 3 minutes of banging it stopped and all fell silent. The door burst open nearly lifting off its hinges. There he stood with, a presumably empty, beer bottle in hand.


this is my fist story i have ever written so feedback will be apreciated. weather it be praise or critism, it is always welcomed. i hope you like it <3                       - Jessi-Mae 

Jamie ----------------->

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