She found herself reaching out for the nearest sharp object in the room. Its color speaks of a cheetah’s spots in wilderness, wild and calm, ironic but beautiful. Its blade when raised to the sky brings light that could make sensitive eyes blink twice.
She found herself using the sharp object that she found, she used it for its purpose. At first it was to make some writing material straight, at times it was to make some writing material in different shapes as she figured out which one’s better.
She found herself enjoying the little joy it has brought to the world until she tried harming herself because she thought that if her inside bleeds so much, then how come make it fair for her outside? If it bleeds so much, then its high time to let it all out.
She found gripping the beautiful sharp object tight. Tight enough that she noticed the pain. Ah, the pain. The pain that could not even compare with the pain that she’s feeling inside. It was not bliss, it was not anywhere near happiness. But as the pain turned into liquid, she now knew it never mattered to anyone, anyway. That she doesn’t matter anyway.
She had long accepted that pain is also like a double-edged sword. Even if you swear it wouldn’t get to you, it eventually will. It will come and will rob you of your senses and you are eventually left with pools of blood — the pools that left you a satisfaction far better than the first one.