She's standing alone. She's always stood alone, even in the midst of others. She isn't heart stoppingly beautiful, nor is she grotesquely ugly, just plain and easily forgotten. One of those people you pass in the street and see without seeing. An extra in life's production, never enough of anything to steal the show.

She is not moving, just staring in a manner that would be considered eerie by some. To look at her, you would never guess at the battle raging within; her constant fight to live and not merely exist. Behind her calm exterior, she bleeds.
Sometimes she bleeds so much inside, that she wonders why cracks and crevices haven't opened on her skin and let all that pain pour out for all to see. But who would look? Who would care?

Is that not the reason why she was standing there, inside her four walled prison with a razor in her hand? That little piece of metal that would show everyone how much she bled. Straight and deep. She watches in amazement as her pain trickles out in dark red rivulets, descending like coloured teardrops onto the white tiled floor below.
Along with the pain, comes a welcome release and a peace long forgotten...

As I slip from now into eternity, I feel myself walking away. Away from the pain. Away from the darkness. Away from the girl in the mirror.

Stark reality expressed as though you may know her.

In my humble opinion that is so awesume writing!!

You have a lovely gift afriQueen..

Awsome prose there Afriqueen. I know just how she feels sometimes too.