Slice

The blade reflected the light and cast its beam on the back of the stall door. Rebeccca Worthing stared at it, her knees pulled up to her chest, feet resting on the seat of the toilet upon which she was perched. The way, nobody would see her should they look under the door.

"They will come looking for you." She told herself, sniffling, fighting back the tears.

"I know." She whispered to herself as she turned the blade of the scalpel -one that she had stolen from the science lab - in her left hand.

Her right sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, her bare arm exposed to the world, revealing the hidden pathways that life had forced her to carve into her flesh; learning curves and experiences that she would remember forever.

The tears came now as she heard a group of girls enter the school bathroom, laughing and giggling.

"They're laughing about you, you now that" The voice in her mind spoke up again.

Rebecca felt the tears sting her eyes, felt them roll down her face, her skin so cold, tears so warm. Her hands were shaking. She bit her lip to keep herself quite but it would stop. The voice in her head began to laugh. It laughed in keeping with the girls' giggles.

"I just cannot believe how stupid you are......(it laughed at her.) I mean, look at yourself, you're too fat to wear anything less than a sweatshirt and tracksuit trousers" ....(it goaded her) before it fell away into a fit of hysterics that soon morphed itself into a maniacal cackle.

"Stop it." Rebecca pleaded, speaking through clenched teeth.

It didn't stop, but rather continued to laugh at her. Echoing her own plea back to her. "Stop it.....stop it......stopit......stopitstopitstopit"

She sliced her arm from the elbow towards her write, the skin peeling apart like an over ripened banana, and then there was the pause before the blood came. It was that moment that Rebecca enjoyed the most in a way. It was the part that hurt, but it was the instant that the silence came, the beginning of the rush. She smiled to herself and watched the two inch long red line appear. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the tiled wall of the bathroom stall. When she opened them again she had cut herself another two times, her entire forearm was red. It was a bright vivid colour, especially against her pale, almost white skin, and yet the puddle which was growing on the floor looked almost black.

"Did that really help?" The voice asked, returning already. Only this time it wasn't mocking, but questioning,. "Why stop here, make it better and cut something else. If you cut them, well... then they will be gone. You can be happy again." Its words hung in her ears, echoed around her mind as if they had been shouted from within a cave.

Unlike a normal echo, which faded away with each rebound it made, this one grew louder.

"No" She said.

"Um...hello, is someone there?" A girl asked. The group was still there. Their laughter had stopped but Rebecca could hear them.

"They've found you. Go on, teach them a lesson. Cut them all." It whispered to her. Her entire body erupted with gooseflesh.

"No, I won't." She said to herself, louder this time. More conviction in her voice. Yet she rose none the less.

"Hello, are you ok in there?" The girl asked again. It was an older voice, a senior no doubt.

"See, itis not them." She spoke aloud this time, not trying to hide herself any longer. She reached for the lock and began to open the door.

"It doesn't matter who they are. Just cut them all." The voice cackled once again. It was like a witches laugh as they stand over their smoking cauldron.

Rebecca came out of the stall smiling, her eyes wide, her mouth wide open, lips curling up in the corners, her right arm bled profusely, and in her left she waved the blade.

"Cut you all" She screamed and lunged clumsily at the group of four seniors, who to their own credit reacted rather than just stared. They ran screaming from the bathroom causing everybody in the hallway to stop, turn and stare.

When the headmaster walked into the girls bathroom, he didn't know what to expect and was prepared for the worst. What he actually found was Rebecca curled up under the row of three sinks, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face white with shock and blood loss. She was sucking her blood covered thumb and rocking slowly. She stared into space, not blinking, not responding to his words or those of the paramedics who loaded her into the ambulance. When she got to hospital it took three male nurses to open her hand and remove the scalpel from her iron like grip.

Doubt

"You'll never amount to anything. You realize that don't you?" The masked figure wearing the blue pinstriped suit spoke.

"You try hard, maybe one day you will get the break you need, but lets face it, the chances are slim." The second spoke. He was dressed in casual clothing, but wore an identical sack-cloth mask which covered his whole face. There were no slits for eye holes, or through which to breath. The material was dirty and greasy yet neither of his two kidnappers appeared to be bothered by it.

"I....." Martin Newchurch tried to speak, but found he didn't have the words to hand.

"No, he doesn't try hard at all. He thinks he does? But come on, look at him, there isnt any real talent there. He's just a hack, thinks he is a writer, calls himself one because he posts on a blog every now and then. You make me sick." The suited mask leant in close. He stunk of aftershave.

Martin's heart was pounding, he looked around but he was shrouded in darkness. He couldn't remember how he got there.

"No, you do try, don't you. You dedicate every second to writing. Ok, maybe we could do more to get your name out there, but hey, if you have talent someone will find out." The casual kidnapper spoke, his tone softer, yet his words far more haunting.

"Don't be stupid. You think he has talent. Come on. Get real. Wake up and stop living in a dream world. It's never going to happen. God!" The suit yelled, his words were filled with rage, and passion behind that, urging it on.

"Why stop, just keep trying. If you are lucky one day it will happen, you have to make sacrifices." Jeans and t-shirt mask spoke, it was his turn to lean in close now.

"I don't know. Be quiet, I have a headache. Please don't talk so loud." Martin whispered. His mouth was dry, his voice mousy.

The two masked men started to laugh, their voices oddly harmonized. They started to spreak again, one voice was threatening and angry, one full of self loathing and uncertainty. The tone of their words was clear, but the were talking over one another and quicker and quicker to the point that the words themselves were nothing but a blur of white noise. It rang in Martin's ears, his eyes started to water. He clamped his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and begged them to stop.

"Stop it. Please stop." He yelled over the onslaught of their words.

They stopped on his command.

He opened his eyes. They both stood before him, staring blankly, the masks gone. The faces that stared back at him were instantly recognizable for they were . . . . Him.

He closed his eyes to blink, felt a warm wind rush over him and when he opened them again, the men, the two clones of himself were gone. Yet their voices echoed in his ears.

As he fell, Martin spun around, turning to look up at the ledge upon which he had just been standing. The ground hurtled towards him and he smiled, for he knew that silence was not far away.

Hostage Situation?

He looked at her from the shadows, he studied her face. He could almost feel the contours of her smooth skin, the slight indentation along her hairline where the scar was hidden; an accident from her childhood. He knew it all. The fillings she had in her teeth, her secret nightly cigarette smoked out on the back porch. He looked her up and down. Her trim body, tight and lithe thanks to the gym hours she had been putting in. She looked good, and he could feel himself getting aroused just being near her.

They had once been inseparable, she had listened to him, understood his needs and helped him satiate them. Then one day it all changed. She left him behind, moved on. She started seeing that doctor. That smarmy man with his Harry Potter glasses and leather seated office. Just thinking about that weasel like man with his receding hairline and gradually swelling stomach made him want to lash out.

He calmed himself, he looked at her, studied her face the way an artist studies a lump of clay. Seeing the true beauty in his work, hidden away beneath the surface.

She had changed her hair too, she wore it down now, and she had grown it long. Had it really been that long since he had last visited her? He tried to think but he had no control over the mind anymore.

He wanted her, he missed her, and he had already decided to come back and take her with him. Fuck the doctor, who was he to tell her what to do. "Join a gym, a book club. Just try to move on." He told her, and how she had listened. Well not it as all going to change he was going to make sure of it.

Stepping forward, emerging from the shadows he strode forcefully. She never saw him coming. He jumped out of the darkness of her mind and seized control of the body they once shared. Wrenching open the draw to the cupboard beneath the same mirror she stood studying her new self in he grabbed the gun. His strength failing as the even now the prescription medication waged war on his existence.

He raised the gun to their temple and just as he saw the look in her eyes turn wide with the realization of what was happening he screamed. -

"Die BITCH" and pulled the trigger.