One cut after another. 'Make yourself pretty.' They said. So she did. Blood gushing out of the cuts, onto her skin. Her weight was just perfect for a skinny child, but she wasn't a child. She was a 16 years old girl, who thought life was just cruel.

Sometimes she wished she could die, actually most of the time she did. She was only happy when music hit her ears, on the beach near her grandparents' house. But that wasn't enough, her grandparents lived miles away from the girl.

Tears were salty. She knew because she had tasted them more than she should've. But she still liked the salt on her lips, reminding her of the beach. It was like an addiction, she couldn't live without the pain.

Her hole life had existed of pain and tears. Maybe somewhere far in the past she had felt happy, but she didn't remember it. Even in the part of her life where she felt numb, she still felt the pain. She only couldn't cry.

She felt relieved to cry, to let her tears remind her of the beach. She liked the pain. And maybe she had a depression, wanting to die so badly, but she was too afraid to actually go to a doctor to find out and have her parents worry about her. So she still kept the pain to herself.

Her eyes wondered of from the toilet, where her blood mixed with her puke just had gone down, to the mirror. She looked at her tears and red eyes, her naked small body with the hundreds of red cuts, her messy hair and plump lips. 'Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.'