• I had to do it. There was no other way to rid myself of the pain. I slid open my pocket knife, and held the tip near a crease in my hand. I was shaking. It had to happen, though. I couldn’t delay any longer. I swiftly cut my hand.
    It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Physical pain was nothing compared to the hole in my heart. With the blood all the sorrow and depression spilt out, finally free, ready to haunt someone else. As long as it isn’t me, the voice at the back of my head whispered. I usually found that voice like the devil, always tempting me with offers I often couldn’t refuse. Like when I escaped from the orphanage. It was such a tempting offer, getting away from that hell of a place, with the strict teachers and all the other girls teasing me because of my height, name and anything else they could see through their beady little eyes. But it turned out to be the worst idea of my life. When I was a good distance from the orphanage I realised that I had nowhere to go. At least in hell there was enough food to fill me up, a warm bed to sleep in. I had no idea where I was. This was deeper than hell. I suddenly had nothing.
    I was having second thoughts about the cut. With that cut, I had cut away all the pain and sorrow, but at a price. I realised that I was cutting away all contact from the world, all the people, all the places, all the happiness. I cried, for the first time since this all started. I never cried, only yelled and screamed, at the teachers when they got angry at me, at the nurse when she poked me with a needle.
    I suddenly thought, What about Liz? She would let me into her house, wouldn’t she?
    Liz was my best friend in proper school. We would run around and make a racket and build sandcastles and tackle the boys…good times, I thought. That was before the crash, though. Not only did the car get smashed, but my heart was shattered too. It managed to heal over, but it was brittle, and easily broken. But Liz was like my glue, holding the pieces together carefully. I had to find a payphone. Wait, I need money first. It was called a payphone for a reason.
    “Hi there, is this Liz’s house?” I was saying a few days later into a payphone. I had found Liz’s number in the phone book that was near it.
    “Good. Can I please speak to her then?” I said, hoping and praying that she was even there. “Thanks.” Yes! I thought triumphantly.
    “Is that really you, Maya?” I heard a surprised voice say after a few seconds.
    “Yes! I hoped you hadn’t forgotten me!”
    “Not in a million years. You were my best friend! What happened after the crash?”
    I was hesitant about telling her the truth. I was scared that she would want to be friends with a depressed, hand-cutting emo. Then, I thought, if she’s your friend, she’s going to understand, right?
    “Um… I got sent to an orphanage. I hated it there, so I escaped a few days ago. Then I rang you.” I would tell her about me cutting myself later.
    “Really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You do know we would have taken you in!”
    “I already knew that!” I said honestly, “I tried asking to use a phone at the orphanage, but the people there were all foul people! They told me to write a letter, and I did. But they refused to post it!”
    “Oh.” There was an awkward silence. Maybe I shouldn’t have blurted out like that.
    “Sorry.” she said.
    “It’s okay.”
    “So, can I come over?”
    “Of course! Why would I say no?”
    I laughed at that remark, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe her warm, happy aura rubbed off on you even when you were just on the phone to her. It was the first time I’d laughed in a long time. The thought of a future made me even happier, and I laughed a fair bit more.
    I threw my pocket knife into a bin. No need for that anymore, I thought.