__05.05.2003 @ 13:55_______
Paul sat very still at the end of his bed. He was hardly moving. He just sat quietly still. He was looking down with fierce concentration at something in his lap.
The phone rang. Paul's concentration was broken. He reached down to pick the phone up from its reciever on the floor and put it to his ear.
"Hi. yeah. um i'm ok. how are you? right. Sorry I can't talk now I am in the middle of something. Yeah. Speak Later. Bye"
Paul replaced the phone in it's cradle. As he did this his attention was drawn to a small drop of blood rolling down his arm towards his elbow. Paul watched it intently. The blood was taking it's time. Eventually it reached his elbow and dripped onto his bedsheets. Paul placed both of his arms side by side in front of him. Their wrists facing upwards. His left wrist was torn ragged and bloody. His right was smooth and clean. Paul knew this was his last chance to turn back. If he chose to he could just stop here, head up to the hospital for a bandage and noone would ever need to know what he had done. The idea was tempting but Paul knew if he stopped now then he would hust end up back in this position eventually. He did not know when, maybe in ten days or maybe in ten years. Either way it was inevitable.
Paul picked up the razor blade with his left hand and gently ran it over his the wrist of his right arm. Just closely enough so he could feel it without actually cutting himself. He gently moved the blade over his wrist. Up and down a few times. Then he applied pressure to it and the razor blade pushed down, breaking his skin. Paul felt a sharp pain but did not let it deter him. He slowly moved the blade from side to side, increasing the size of the cut. Next he removed the blade from the wound and shifted it around ninety degrees before pushing it back down through his skin. Once again he increased the size of the cut by moving the blade from side to side.
When Paul was satisfied that he had done what he needed to he dropped the razor blade to the floor and inspected his wrists. Both were very bloody but visible beneath the blood on each wrist were some very visible crosses where Paul had made the cuts. Paul had nothing left to do now except swing his legs round onto the bed, lay down and wait.
Inspiration For This Tale: I had 2 options of what to do with this idea. Turning it into fiction seemed the most sensible one.
Sensory Input For This Tale: Arab Strap mp3s
<- | ->
