Something serious...

So, in this (second) blog,  I've decided to talk about something a little more serious and as always I will express it in writing. Some might call it a story, and some might call it "a crude but necessary way to advertise the effects of bullying". This is something that I personally have had to deal with for all my fourteen years of life and I know too many people (including me) who have to suffer from this kind of abuse every day. This post is simply to further inform readers about the harm bullying can inflict upon innocent people. Bullying is a problem that I belive to be the cause of most teen suicides in America. And just to be clear, this person and the events that take place in this particular instance are strictly fictional.


Thinking of the day she just barley managed to finish, Tara sat in her dimmly lit room and pondered things that most girls probably shouldn't. As another tear fell from Tara's electric blue eye onto her grey satin comforter, she withdrew her cold, burgandy-stained razor from her pocket. But before Tara performed the sentence that she was determined to carry out, she ignored the various pink and purple scars that zig zaged across her arm and lightly draged the sharp edge along her skin. A small, crimson bubble bloomed from Tara's arm and she wondered if it would ever pop. When it did, Tara's dark blood drew a thin line down the center of her forearm. When the line finally ended, a small dark teardrop formed at the end of Tara's elbow and plunged to the floor. She was floating. She was looking down on herself now from the celing wondering what would happen next. She was the author to her own story and it dangerously excited her.
Now was the time. It was the time for her to finally end all the pain and suffering that had been inflicted on her by her peers over her fourteen years of life. Tara drew the dripping razor so that it was just hovering over the surface of a deep blue vein. She tensed her trembling fingers, willed her tears to cease and pressed the metal onto the skin that hid the vein just below the beginning of her palm. Tara was ready. She pushed the tip of the blade into her skin and let out a cry as the razor broke the skin and along with it, the fleshy extirior of her vein. Deep rivers of blood etched their way down Tara's porcilan skin and dripped onto the floor below. Her eyes grew to golfballs as the dark, steak-sented stain seemed to grow on the carpet with every passing second. Tara sat on the floor watching her metalic crimson pool around her until she had lost so much blood that she passed out cold on the floor. Tara died at exactly 11:59 one minute before her birthday. She died proud knowing that her cowardice would never hold her back again.