Writing: Moment in Time - Scars

He stands apart from his friends. They laugh and they joke together, yet he stands apart. His mind as dark as the night that surrounds him, he looks at his wrists and touches the fresh scars. His friends never notice the marks, they don't really care, he says to himself. Why should they? Why should anyone?

Walking away from the party, he grabs a knife from a table covered in all kinds of foods. In his hands are his two friends, liquor and pain. He sits behind the garage, the sounds of laughing only faintly heard. Taking a long drink from his bottle of Stolichnya, his hair falls over his eyes as he sets the knife on his lap. Tears standing in his eyes, he sets the bottle down and thinks of all the times before. These two friends have been the only thing in his life for years. The pain kept people from getting too close to him. The blood washed away the tears.

He picks up the knife and stares at the light shimmering off the tip. A single ray of hope, coming from his closest friend. He lowers the blade to his wrist and cuts open the scar, feeling the rush of pain shudder through his body. The blood, warm and soothing, coats his hand as if it was a lover holding him. He reaches the end of the scar and starts again, adding pressure more and more. The pain is sweet, intoxicating to him. His eyes stream tears, but he makes no sound. A ruby pool forms beneath his feet and he cant help but marvel at its beauty.

He switches hands to start again fresh on the other arm, but his fingers wont close around the knifes handle. He cut too deep again, he winced. He lets the knife drop into that sticky pool and sits back. He grabs his bottle of vodka and takes a deep drink, feeling the coolness of the liquor coat his throat. Slowly he pours the rest of the bottle on his wrist, almost crying out, washing away the blood. He reaches into his back pocket for his linen and tape. As he wraps his torn wrist, he chuckles to himself. They will never notice. They never do. He stands up and walks back to the party, leaving the bottle and knife sitting in that crimson ocean.