Choices with Daggers

Weapons were made to harm others, not yourself. She repeated this over and over in her mind. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. How many times had he told her that simple phrase? How many times had he walked in on her when she held the dagger to her wrist, contemplating whether or not she should do it? Too many for her to remember. She held the dagger now. Fingers trembling. Palm sweaty. Here they were again. He begged her to put down the weapon as she tightened her grip on the smooth handle. But this time he was on the floor. This time she stood above him. And she still had the dagger. She refused to live this life any longer. Her whole body trembled. Breaths coming in short bursts. Sweat beaded on her neck and forehead. The one light slowly swung back and forth. Shadows coming and going. All she could hear were his desperate pleas. How many times had he tempted her to take her own life? Where do you think she even got the blade? Weapons were made to harm others, not yourself. Oh, she was going to harm another alright. She would harm him so he couldn’t tempt any other naive souls to bleed themselves to death. Death…it sounded so sweet and comforting. Sounded familiar. She looked at her wrists. Both had scars running across her main veins. Her flesh was pasty and white. What…? Death. Her eyes lifted. The sensation of tears and sweat fading away. She was dead. She had bled herself to death. By the manipulations of him. She was dead and could no longer be killed. So she plunged the dagger into his heart. Watching him choke on his own blood filled her with so much satisfaction. He tried holding on, but the light faded from his eyes. A faint smile touched her blue lips. Weapons were made to harm others, not yourself…

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