Too Cold | Teen Ink

Too Cold

February 25, 2013
By Racaycay BRONZE, Wadsworth, Ohio
Racaycay BRONZE, Wadsworth, Ohio
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
No Guarantees and No regrets <br /> <br /> Let Be, Let God<br /> <br /> If you lose yourself your courage soon will follow. So be strong remember who you are.<br /> <br /> Law came by Moses but grace and truth come by Jesus Christ. John &hearts;


The day is cold, too cold. Even with my wooly coat and mittens I can feel the breathe of the chilly morning air seeping into my body, freezing my bones. All of a sudden I hear a low rumbling. It reminds me off a dragon staring down a small child like a delicious meal. As the noise gets louder I smell the stench of un-burnt diesel fuel clogging the air with its rankness. I recognize that it’s a school bus driving up behind me even before I see its great, big, yellow belly filled with jeering faces. Quicker than a serpent I advert my eyes to the ground watching my feet take step after step. Still as the monster rolls by, I hear them laugh. Feel them point. There’s an evil sound echoing in my eyes. I feel trapped in a mushroom cloud of noise. It drives me crazy, drives me mad. Makes me sad. I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying. “Ow” too hard. I taste the sour, metallic, blood as it slowly trickles down the back of my throat. I enter the noisy halls of that god forsaken place. Passing groups of kids, strangers to me, I hear my name. Again and again; “There she is” “That’s the girl” “Did you know she” “That whore”. It makes the blood inside my veins heat hotter than a blazing fire. Some roar their words more ear-splitting than a lion. Others whisper quieter than raindrops bouncing off a gravestone. I hear them all. I enter the bathroom, scaring out the other girls; it’s the only quit place, only safe place. Entering a stall I put the seat down with a small “clang.” I reach into my purse; my hand grips a perfect sharp edge. With a smile on my lips I pull it out. My long sleeves scratch along old cuts stinging in pain. I carefully examine my scratched up arm searching for just the perfect spot. “Aha” my mind thinks. Then my hand freezes in the silence but only for a second before once again I hear the murmurings of everyone driving me to do it. Pale skin. Sliver blade. Red lines. With a small sigh my hand moves down time and time again. Red, sticky, blood pours up from my flesh. Pain overtakes my body like a grenade. As the laughter in my ears slowly fades; I escape the world.



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