Chris

Sitting on his porch on a snowy night in January, Chris wondered why his friends were gradually moving away from him, how they were all but a memory now. Maybe it was his failing grades, his increased drug usage or maybe it was the fact that he had started cutting 2 months ago and some people in the school found out.

They had instantly labeled him a freak. Word was sent home to his parents about this behavior, and they sent him to a counselor and never said anything else about it. “Why me” Chris whispered to himself over and over while sitting on the porch. “Why does something always have to be wrong with me?” For the last couple of weeks Chris’s obsession had started to consume him. All he thought about was getting his life back together. However, the more he thought about it, the harder it seemed to get. Chris walked back inside, layed down on his bed and began to cry. “Why!” he screamed over and over. He walked over to his dirty laundry, reached his hand in the pocket of a pair of pants and pulled out a large pocket knife. Then he sat on the floor and started to cut his wrist. Not to deep, just enough to draw the blood that seemed to comfort him so much. He started to wrench with the pain, but by now he was beginning to get used to it. Sitting on the floor, he thought about how worthless he was and how much it wasnt worth it to live. Then without thinking, Chris cut his wrist deeper. He then cur his other wrist and lay on the floor with blood pooling all around his body. He thought about his mom, his dad, and all the friends he used to have. In his last thought, he brought the blade up to his neck and ended his life.