It is quiet, and even the water ceases to crinkle the noise of nothingness.I sit in the sweltering steam of bath. My face burns like fire from the tears that have gnawed at my freckled cheeks. The salty waves of pain blend in with the pool of heat. Trapped and hopeless is the manner of my life. I sink down, down, down into the molten liquid that is my bath water.

I glance through blurry lashes at my slim, scarred, and bruised wrist. I have cut and cut, but life clings to my soul. My eyes move to another object nearby. The pink plastic handle and the five blades that have grazed my blue lifelines before seem welcoming to my brown eyes of despair.

At once, the grave silence is broken with the plink of water droplets as I reach for my attempt at death. With the razor ripping through the flesh of life, I release my cares for living along with the thousands of redcoats that march out of my wrist and into the scalding bath. My mind is on pain overload, and I pray for death.