Snapshots: One Battle Down
WARNING: NOT FOR YOUNGER OR INNOCENT READERS.
Wrote this for Snapshots. Opinions??
'She stared at the screen, tears pouring down her twisted face.
"What does he know, or care?" A little voice inside of her whispered. "You're just another human...a worthless body, a lazy, selfcentred bitch. She's right...everyone who tells you that must be right. Because you see it in yourself. You lazy, good-for-nothing, cutting harlot."
Burying her face in the crook of her arm, she sobbed quietly into the cushion on the arm of the chair, trying to suppress the louder sobs that would bring down her already angry and weeping mother.
She raised her soaked face and studied the computer screen again, reading the type that a faceless person had sent, begging her, pleading with her not to cut. Glancing down at the knife on her lap, she pulled the kitchen towel out, ready to soak up the blood when she'd made the cut - or two - that would send her into a state of shocked numbness. She remembered the last cut she'd made...lying near unconsciousness on the floor, blood soaking through the applied tissue, the fear that it would never stop bleeding, the threats of removed freedom after the inevitable discovery, the tears, the pressure like everyone was crowding her...almost unconsciously, she pulled the skirt of her dress up to finger the deeper scar on her leg.
"Oh, Zac..." she cried, pressing the blade against her forehead. "I just have to do this!"
"No, you don't. You have to trust in God. He has taken the punishment; there is no need to punish yourself. Please, Evelyn, pray, for your mother, for yourself, but do not cut."
"It eases the pain."
"It doesn't. It makes it worse in the long run..."
"I can't pray. I can't think. I'm just so confused. And I know this will dull the pain."
"It will only scar you physically, mentally and worse. Please, trust me, Evelyn. Put the knife back."
She fingered the edge of the blade again, pressing it against her skin.
If someone cares enough to stay here and talk me through this...then maybe...maybe...God does care. And...Trust him. What does he know about trust?
Her oldest and most faithful human friend. He hadn't left in spite of the extent of evil she had done. And if a human could do that...how much more could a perfect and all loving God...
With a choked sob, she rose to her feet. With wooden steps, she moved heavily towards the kitchen, her hand tightening on the knife with each pace until her knuckles were white. She pulled open the drawer with rigid fingers.
Because love is greater than hate. Even self hate.
Slowly unclenching her fingers, one by one, she dropped the knife back into the drawer, slamming it closed and throwing the kitchen towel away before bolting out back to her computer.
I think the releasing of the hand and those steps were the most difficult of my life.
Wrote this for Snapshots. Opinions??
'She stared at the screen, tears pouring down her twisted face.
"What does he know, or care?" A little voice inside of her whispered. "You're just another human...a worthless body, a lazy, selfcentred bitch. She's right...everyone who tells you that must be right. Because you see it in yourself. You lazy, good-for-nothing, cutting harlot."
Burying her face in the crook of her arm, she sobbed quietly into the cushion on the arm of the chair, trying to suppress the louder sobs that would bring down her already angry and weeping mother.
She raised her soaked face and studied the computer screen again, reading the type that a faceless person had sent, begging her, pleading with her not to cut. Glancing down at the knife on her lap, she pulled the kitchen towel out, ready to soak up the blood when she'd made the cut - or two - that would send her into a state of shocked numbness. She remembered the last cut she'd made...lying near unconsciousness on the floor, blood soaking through the applied tissue, the fear that it would never stop bleeding, the threats of removed freedom after the inevitable discovery, the tears, the pressure like everyone was crowding her...almost unconsciously, she pulled the skirt of her dress up to finger the deeper scar on her leg.
"Oh, Zac..." she cried, pressing the blade against her forehead. "I just have to do this!"
"No, you don't. You have to trust in God. He has taken the punishment; there is no need to punish yourself. Please, Evelyn, pray, for your mother, for yourself, but do not cut."
"It eases the pain."
"It doesn't. It makes it worse in the long run..."
"I can't pray. I can't think. I'm just so confused. And I know this will dull the pain."
"It will only scar you physically, mentally and worse. Please, trust me, Evelyn. Put the knife back."
She fingered the edge of the blade again, pressing it against her skin.
If someone cares enough to stay here and talk me through this...then maybe...maybe...God does care. And...Trust him. What does he know about trust?
Her oldest and most faithful human friend. He hadn't left in spite of the extent of evil she had done. And if a human could do that...how much more could a perfect and all loving God...
With a choked sob, she rose to her feet. With wooden steps, she moved heavily towards the kitchen, her hand tightening on the knife with each pace until her knuckles were white. She pulled open the drawer with rigid fingers.
Because love is greater than hate. Even self hate.
Slowly unclenching her fingers, one by one, she dropped the knife back into the drawer, slamming it closed and throwing the kitchen towel away before bolting out back to her computer.
I think the releasing of the hand and those steps were the most difficult of my life.
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Thanks for sharing your thoughts. :)