She Falls. a fictional story by paris hayes
she looks in the mirror, stares, as if she could shatter the reflective glass with her eyes. she tilts her head to the side, exhales all the air trapped in her lungs, and rapidly inhales. she suspends the air in her body, her stomach becomes completely concave, and the bones of her hips reach out, pressing against her skin from the inside, stretching it like elastic. there are indentations like canyons on both sides of her chest, one after the other. she slides her trembling hand up her stomach and feels the bones. she can fit her entire fist under her final rib. but it isn't enough. she exhales, and continues to breathe. she grips her thighs and pulls the fat and skin away from herself. she squeezes it with all she can, her knuckles turn white and she wishes hard, "make it go away," she whispers through tears," please just make it go away." she closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the tears that continue to burn her eyes. yet when she opens them, she is the same. her face is red, there are wet black streaks down her face from mascara and eyeliner. she steps closer to the glass and examines the girl in front of her. her every scar, every freckle, every curve, every bone. her face is slowly transforming, her stone like stare weakens, the corners of her mouth slide down into a terrible frown, and her eyes go blank. "i hate you," she whispers, the words pierce the air. " i hate you," she says with anger. " i hate you" she yells, one tear hits the wood beneath her bare feet. " i hate you!" she screams, as if there were no one else in the world. a glass sitting on her dresser descends and shatters. she collapses, her head hits the cold mahogany beneath her, her light hair soaks up the puddle of her tears. she lies motionless for minutes, her eyes closed, trying to feel something, anything at all. she is empty and her body is cold. her hand extends outwards and she gropes with painted nails for a piece of glass. her fingers find a long clear shard, the edge is sharp to the touch and the tip of her finger releases a small bead of deep red blood. she slides it across the floor to her left wrist. she opens her eyes to observe the dark purple veins pumping blood through her arm and hand. she places the sharp tip against her flawless skin, she closes her eyes and she prays to her god for the courage to press down hard enough. in a slow and painless motion she cuts herself open for the world to see. "this is me" she mutters, and watches blood pour. she puts the glass into the open wound and retraces it. pushing in glass and pushing out pain. she lays there on the ground and lets herself bleed. a pool of red is beginning to form on the floor beneath her frail arm. she wont let go of the glass, she wont stop crying, she wont get off the floor, she wont stop bleeding. everything around her is fading, she is being swallowed by black and her eyes are being forced closed. she puts her arms underneath her body and lifts herself up only enough to see herself in the mirror. with all she has left she opens her eyes and stares herself in the face, " if only you had been beautiful," are the words her lips form, but she cant seem to break the silence. she falls.