The Reflection of MyselfI stared in the mirror, eyebrows furrowed. I squinted my eyes, then opened them real wide. I looked my body up and down, turning at all different angles. Too chunky here, too thin there. Eyes too far apart; nose too big. I criticized every inch of my body. I glanced around my full body mirror; I had plastered pictures of beautiful women all around it that I had ripped out of magazines. I studied the pictures every time I looked in the mirror, which was often. No matter what I bought, changed, or fixed, I could never seem to be satisfied with myself.
I sighed deeply and placed my head on the mirror, palm to palm with my reflection. Maybe if my stingy parents would give me more money for clothing or makeup resources...
"Why do you torture yourself like this?" I jerked my hand off the mirror and turned around. No one was in my room but me. Maybe I was hearing things. I turned back around and looked into the mirror. "Your eyes are blind to what matters."
I gasped, cupp
A Reason to LiveIf only she had the guts to actually do it, to just leap among the cold waves and sink in death among the fish. She breathed in the smell and taste of saltwater, and water sprays hit her face, neck, and chest. She shivered slightly in the breeze from the waves, but she wasn’t really bothered by the chill. What weighed on her mind was something much deeper than the weather.A Reason to Live2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A pang of apprehension penetrated her heart as she envisioned her body being plunged into the water and weighted down by the strong waves. She thought about what it would be like to gulp in mouthful after mouthful of water, choking and never feeling any relief, but she didn’t think the pain could be any worse than what she was already dealing with.
“Aimée!” The young woman moved her arms in circular motions as she tried to keep her balance. Her mother’s call startled her, and for a brief moment she thought God might be
SuicideShe was artsy.Suicide5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
She was odd.
She was a victim of the mob.
No one liked her.
No one cared.
They'd make fun or sit and stare.
She didn't cry.
She didn't fight.
She just let them take her rights.
A month went on,
And then one more.
All of their ridicules, alone she bore.
It all built up,
Until one night.
The "bulb" went off- she saw false light.
She chose her fate,
Then and there.
No one would miss her, since no one cared.