I don't actually know why I wrote this.. Hopefully me saying that, you have now skipped on to read the next summary of the next persons work.
The thoughts ran through my mind quick but repetitively. Over and over they told me to do it. They told me not to do it. They didn’t know what do to. I knew what I had to do. I had to do something. Even if it was a small thing, it would at least be something to change the way my life has been. The thoughts were getting stronger, more aggressive now. They reminded me about the knives just in the next room, in the kitchen. They reminded me about the pen-knife in my pocket, heavy as a boulder now. They reminded me about sharp metal things hidden throughout the house. I felt myself being dragged towards the knife. I pulled it out slowly and admired the shine of the long blade. I had to do it. Anything to get me out of this mess I made. I wanted to make sure I did it right. I sharpened the knife long and hard. The point gleamed and bounced the light onto the wall. I held it in my hand and turned it over and over, contemplating my next move. Should I really go through with this? A small voice was still muttering worriedly at the back of my head. Of course I should do it. I have no other choice. And with that, I dragged the knife hard across my wrist to let the warm blood flow. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry out. I sat down at the table and waited, watching as the blood poured out of me. It made a scarlet pool on the table. I blinked, it was too late now. I had done it. I was going to die. Suddenly a thought hit me. She would never know how I felt. I ran to the paper on the desk and wrote eight little words.
Tell Harriet I love her and I’m sorry.