When Tragedy Strikes

Empty

Zendayas POV (earlier that week)

I sat on my bed, which with it's frilly pink lace comforter falsely implied that someone.....happy lived here.

I roughly snatched a price of the thin lace and just as easily ripped it. Just like my heart.

Realizing this was pointless, maybe someone could use this bedspread after I was gone, I rose and strode across my room.

I now stood in front of my mirror, but the reflection I saw wasn't me.

Dark, tired circles surrounded my eyes, which instead of their lively brown had turned almost a shade of black. My lips were chapped, and colorless. My skin seemed rubbery and dry. And my hair....

I grabbed the scissors from my desk and brought them up to my face.

I had always loved my long hair. It didn't take long for it to grow, and if I cut it now, it would only take a few months to grow back. I hope.

I grabbed my comb and quickly ran it through my hair. Then, I picked up the scissors again.

Slowly bringing them up to my held out section of hair, I clipped.

*snip snip*

Now, I had only cut off a few inches. I still needed to look good, for those who would see me for the last time.

The last time.

That's when the idea hit me.

My eyes quickly swept down to the red handled scissors still firmly held in my hand.

Then they looked to my wrist.

I quickly walked over to my bed. I'm not sure why I hurried, I would be home alone for the next few hours. I sank onto my bed.

I checked the sharpness of the scissors.

Lucky for me, they were particularly new. New scissors equals sharp blade.

I contemplated going to the kitchen. A knife would make this task so much easier.

Well as easy as it could be.

But no, I needed to do this. And I needed to do it now.

After taking a deep breath, I brought the scissors to my frail wrist.

I slowly drug the blade across.

The pain threw me into a whirlwind of dizziness. The scissors fell from my hand.

I clutched my wrist, screaming, screaming for anyone or anything that could make the pain go away.

I looked at my wrist. Blood stained it and everything it had touched.

Why had a chosen this way?

The dizziness was starting to overtake me, I was losing blood fast.

I needed to get somewhere. I didn't knew where. But I needed to get up.

I reached with my good hand for the bed rail, and I pulled myself up slowly, while gasping in pain.

I took one step.

I then fell to the ground.

The last thing I saw were the scissors.

The crimson liquid matching the handle's color.

Thoughts???