hing. Finally, blood slowly beads up along the slit. Instaneously the cut splits open into a deep crevice. Blood gushes out from the wound, pouring onto my satin bed sheets.Amazed, that I had actually gone through with it, I am unable to move. I sit in great pride; my eyes fixed on the blood streaming out of my arm. There is a tingling sensation in the gap where the razor had tore through my skin moments ago. That sensation then turns into a burning pain. I stand up and become light-headed. Every heartbeat pumps more and more blood out and onto the white carpet floor. My body grows weaker with each pulse. Still staring in a trance like state at the gapping wound, I become scared. I reallydid not want to die. It was just a test of my strength and will, to see if i could do it. It was just supposed to be a test! I do not want to die! Fearful for my life, I stagger towards the poster of Kurt Cobain taped on my bedroom door. Spilling blood with every step I take, leaving behind a trail of blood. My legs strain to maintain balance. The floor begins to sway and I must lean all my weight against the door to remain standing. My skin is cold to the touch. My body shakes uncontrollably. My hand trembles as I reach for the door handle. My vision becomes blurred, making it impossible to focus on the door. My fingers grow numb. Unable to see straight I and not having any feeling in my hands, I miss several times when grabbing for the door knob. Finally, my hand catches the handle. I struggle to turn it. I try pulling the door open, but my grip is too weak. My hand slips off of the knob and I collapse-- first hitting my left cheek bone against the chrome handle, and then smearing blood all the way down the door. Lying in a pool if blood, I taste the bitter saltiness of blood on my lips. My cheek swells to the size of a baseball. Unable to get up or move any of my limbs, I scream, but nothing comes out.Amidst all of this...
