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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Death · #1388926
Isolation does terrible things to people.
In her mind, the image she was met with when she looked into a mirror was the most disgusting thing in existence. That was why she avoided doing so as much as possible. It has been months since she’d even glimpsed her reflection so being face-to-face with it so suddenly made her want to either vomit or cry.

She ran her fingers across her pallid, sunken-in features, her fingernails roughly scraping through the layer of natural oil and sweat that was causing the violent, pus-filled pimples scattered around her face. Her fingertips continued slowly up onto her head, becoming tangled almost instantly in a slimy mess of waist-length raven hair.

A sudden wave of nausea brought her to her knees, retching painfully and expelling the scarce contents of her stomach onto the tiled floor. She sat up slowly, biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

When she next glanced at her reflection she noticed the small trail of blood spilling from the corner of her mouth and smiled. Summoning every ounce of energy in her malnourished body she slammed her fist into the mirror.

She grabbed one of the loose shards of glass and grinned at her cracked and distorted reflection. Her grin widened, displaying crooked, rotting teeth as she dug the glass into her cheek, just below her eye.

She leaned as close as she possibly could to the mirror and watched in awe as the glass slid easily through her skin, over and over until her entire face was covered in small but deep cuts.

When her face was completely covered she moved onto her wrists. Using a new piece of glass she made deep slashes, diagonally across both wrists, letting the blood run into the stark white basin.

She blinked rapidly, clearing some of the blood from her eyes and looked down at the thick, crimson liquid accumulating in the plugged sink. She smiled, running her fingertips through it before scooping up as much as she could and letting it slide slowly from her hands like a child playing in a sand box. She repeated the action over until her head was spinning and her whole body was throbbing to the point where she was gripping the basin in a desperate attempt to keep on her feet.

When she could no longer support her own weight she let herself collapse to the floor in a pool of her own vomit and blood, gasping for a lungful of the precious oxygen that just seemed to escape her.

With numb shaking hands she brought the piece of glass to her throat, her one last, shuddering breath escaping her in the form of a laugh.
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