xMourningStarx

Little Bleak Mourning Star
2002-01-25 19:41:36 (UTC)

Blackest of Dreams In..

Blackest of Dreams


In the light of a single
burning candle she lay on her
bed...bleeding.

"Sounds delicious," she
answered her mother
sarcastically.
She was tall and
slender. Her long raven-hair was
pulled back, her alabaster skin
was fair, her lips
scarlet. She wore a pleated
skirt, a long sleeved shirt,
and sandals with knee-highs.
"Well, you need to sit
down to eat Bente," her
mother said as she was placing
the plate of food on the
table.
Bente put her sweater
on the back of the chair and
sat down. She pulled up her
sleeves and put her left arm
under the table. She picked up
the fork with her long
pallid fingers and she poked
the sausage. She wasn't very
hungry.
"Well I have to go to
work. I'll be home around
seven tonight, I'll bring home
some food. Don't leave too
late. Okay, bye, sweety," her
mother said as she was
walking out of the kitchen.
"Have a nice day. I love you."
"Okay Mom, I got it!
Bye!" she replied. Bente got
up as she heard the front door
close. She got her bag and
car keys, headed to the garage
and went to school.
As she was walking down
the corridor to homeroom,
she could feel her wounds
against her sleeves. She smiled
timidly. The bell rang before
she was at the door, she was
late. As she was walking to
her seat, her teacher was
staring.
"Bente, I'll need to
talk to you after class." said
Mrs. Smith, her English
teacher.
As Mrs. Smith rambled
on about William Blake, Bente
was writing in her journal.
Now when I see the
blood I feel a sense of relief.
Why don't I feel pain?
Instead, it feels like it,s coming
out, being released.
The bell rang; everyone
was going to their next
class. Bente just stayed put.
"You do realize you're
doing poorly in my class,
don't you?" asked Mrs. Smith.
"Yes."
"What's wrong? You
were an exceptional student.
But recently you stopped doing
your work and write in that
journal. Something wrong at
home that I can help you
with?" Mrs. Smith asked
curiously.
"No. Everything's
fine. Why should I be talking
about anything with you? May I
go now?"
"It's good to talk
things out. I'm just trying to
help."
"Well, I don't need
your help! May I go now?"
"Uh…"Mrs. Smith looked
astounded by what she
said. "Yes, you may go. I'll
write you a pass."
Bente left the class
and headed for gym. Hopefully
no one is in the locker room
anymore she thought. With her
luck, it was still full with
girls changing. She didn't
know many of them. The ones
she did, didn't speak to her.
She tried to change as
fast as she could, she didn’t want
anybody to notice her. But no
one ever did. When
she was looking for her sweater
she couldn't find it.
"Dammit!" Bente yelled.
The girl close by
looked at her funny and asked
what was wrong. Bente said
nothing. The whole hour she
folded her arms. It's not like
she ever participated
anyways.
"Hey, you, why don't
you play with us?" asked a
short, young looking girl. Her
brown hair bounced off her
shoulders as she walked up to
Bente. She pulled her by the
arm towards the volleyball net.
The girl gasped when she
noticed deep scars, and fresh
wounds, on her arms.
Bente felt ashamed.
She couldn't believe someone
found out about her secret.
She ran to the bathroom and
locked herself in a stall.
She had nothing to cut
herself with; she used her
Finger nails to tear her flesh.
She wanted to see the
blood...wanted to feel. Wanted
to know that she was human.
Once class was over,
everyone in the locker room
was whispering as they past her
sitting on a bench. Bente
knew they were whispering about
her. She just grabbed her
clothes and bag, and ran out of
there.
As she was going
towards the door, someone
yelled, "Get help, you psycho!"
She recognized the voice;
it was Patricia, someone she
was very close to.
She ran to her car and
drove home. Her eyes were
blurry from the tears. She was
holding them in, she hasn't
cried since she was ten. She
refused to.
The blood on her arms
was trickling down her arms.
When she scratched herself, she
opened up old wounds.
When she got home, she
ran up to her room. She
tried so hard to calm herself
down. Her pain was
unbearable.
If I could kill myself, I could
stop hurting.
She got her journal and
wrote.
I cut myself to see if
I could bring out the person
that I wanted to be-make
myself feel better emotionally. I
don't feel good about who I was
or am. I wanted to fell
this extra pain, so I could be
in control. Isn't it
ironic, its controlling me.
Bente put her journal
and pen down...and held up a
razor blade.

Her mother came home
and noticed it was too quiet.
She went up to Bente's room.
The door was ajar, she walked
in. Once she noticed her own
daughter's body she gave a
scream which pierced the air.
She walked up to
Bente's dresser and found her
journal. Then she lit a candle
when she finished reading
the last entry, and walked out
sobbing.

In the light of a burning
candle she lay on her
bed...bleeding.


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