Practice

Mike looked nervous.

At the bathroom stall, he sat down on the lid of the toilet. His feet bouncing, expression nervous. He held a pair of scissors on his right hand. His forearm and wrist were exposed. He was going to do it.

His classmates said its like a rush of adrenaline. It feels good. If he slit his wrists using a scissor. A razor was better they said. White marks littered their arms.

This is his first time. He's incredibly anxious but he wants to be like them.

With shaking hands he took his scissors and lightly swiped it at his wrists. It caught his skin but wasn't enough to break it apart. He swiped again but harder. It didn't bleed but the adrenaline was leaving.

Mike hesitated too long. He didn't want to do it anymore.. A light red bump appeared like how you would when you scratch your skin. He shook his head at the thought of seeing it drip down. at his thoughts of seeing the inside of skin. the layers that they were taught.

He stood up. Checked his forearm again and realized that it was too obvious. He scratched his arm and made it purposeful like he was just itchy. He walked out thankful for the fact that the bathroom stall was empty, void of boys. void of judgement.

he tucked the scissors in his pocket and walked out unsure of what to think.

it was scary to see himself holding a blade but his friends encouraged it so maybe it wasn't that scary. maybe he was being too soft. sensitive. a coward. Maybe this is what he needs to toughen himself up. Prepare himself for the real world. Maybe next time he'll try to go deeper? He'll find an alternative than the stupid cheap school scissors.

Next time he won't hesitate. He's a man. He can bleed and he will.

—K.S