She looked into the mirror at herself, at what she had become. Tears started to fill her formerly desert dry eyes. She looked down at her hands, which were tightly gripped around a sharp peice of glass. The cuts running all the way up her arms were perfectly parallel to eachother, and pure, thick red blood dripped from each deep cut.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

She walked casually down the halls to her next class, carefully inspecting every other girl who passed by. Some were tall, some short. Some fat, some thin. She looked down at herself, then quickly leveled her eyes straight ahead again. She was average sized in the eyes of her peers. Average height, around five feet four inches, average weight, everything as it should be for a girl her age. But when she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw no average, she knew no average. All she saw was nothing, especially in her eyes. She felt hollow, and non-existant. She wanted so badly to escape, but knew she couldn't. She remembered other teens in her neighborhood who had taken their lives. Whether loved or not, known or not, the effects were aweful. She couldn't bare to put anyone through the same pain she herself hated so much.

Her friends had always seen her as an individual. Very original personallity and unique sense of style. Opinionated, very friendly and sociable. Lately though, she was acting odd. Her friends hadn't noticed the new trend of long sleeves she had started for herself to hide her scars, but they had noticed her change in attitude. Most figured it was family problems, and chose to ignore it. Some were extra concerned though.

"Maggie!" Patrica called out loudly from behind a big crowd of students. Maggie turned her head while still walking towards the doorway to her class. She saw Patricia moving her way forwards, and decided to move aside and wait for her. "Hey, what class do you have?" Asked a highly out of breath Patricia.

"Science, I have to go in now." They exchanged waves, and went their seperete directions.

The bell rang to end class, right on the dot. Maggie prepared herself for another long walk home alone, and another depressing evening at home in front of her television set. Her mother had left 3 days ago. She called one night from work and explained she would be late getting home, because she was asked to work extra hours. She hadn't seen her since. It'd happened so many times before, she'd lost count.

She sat on her bed, legs crossed, staring out her window at the bright moon, illuminated sky filled with stars, and wondered why she was doing so. What am I doing? She thought to herself. I can't go on like this! I've gone crazy. She had a sudden urge of pain, a need to feel physical pain.

The glass peirced her skin, it ran along her arm, deeper than it should have. The blood was so refreshing to look at, but it wasn't nearly enough to make her live. She needed to live, she needed to be alive. The more she did it, the more weight was taken off her chest. She kept cutting, and cutting until, her arm went numb. Completely numb, like it wasn't even there. She dropped the glass, un classped it from her hand. She was alive.

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