One step backwards. They tower above me. Another step. And another. And another. Cold, unforgiving bricks meet my cowering back. No-where to hide. Eyes darting, mind whirring, I desperately look for an escape, try to think of an excuse, an answer to their jeering questions that I don’t know whether to answer or to look down at my feet, mouth clenched shut.

The bell rings. Saved by the bell. That old cliché that never used to mean anything to me is now all that I can cling to with my nail bitten , spindly fingers. As they walk away, laughing, sneering, I reach down for my books; my notes, fluttering across the paved enclosure, butterflies set free from their cage. I watch as they dance together in the breeze, a moment of wonderment, before I realise that the gentle butterflies are in fact my history essay. And I’m late again.

I creep up to my classroom and prepare myself for the now, daily humiliation that will soon commence. Still shell shocked from my ephemeral meeting this morning, I push the heavy door and greet the malevolent grins of my so-called friends.

The command for me to sit comes on time, as always; I scuttle to my usual seat by the window. The gentle breeze on my face keeps me awake through the long hours before the prison break at four. On occasion, when my eyes are no longer heavy, I stare aimlessly out into the endless blue. Dreams, hopes and wishes fill my head and just for a moment, I forget all about “them”.  Just for a moment; suspended between slumber and consciousness, reality and the surreal obscurities of my mind.

The bell tolls. Four o’ clock. One deep breath, I collect my folders and thoughts, and then I stand up. Clutching my books close to me, a security shield, I leave the room. Eyes constantly looking around, hoping they won’t spot me, won’t realise I’m even alive.

A close call, a quick dive behind a corner as I hear their weighted approach. I jump onto the bus and fall into a dreamlike trance, holding the gaze of the vast landscape.

I almost miss my stop, my mind turned within itself, my thoughts entirely inverted. My struggle with the door handle awakens mother to my presence. A disapproving glance from her and I disappear upstairs knowing I’m truly wanted.

Crashing around, I search fiercely for my scissors. Mother has moved them again. Sometimes I think she knows… but she never says anything to me. Desperation and panic set in. The pain is so great and I have no way of releasing it.

Finally in mother’s study, I find a pair and race back to my room, locking the door silently. I drag the sharp blades across my left wrist, over and over again. Gluttonous clots form and slide over my ashen skin. Violent gyrations curse through my body and I sit back, breathing heavily. The one thing I can control: myself. I am cured… for now, for tonight.

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