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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Pain / Problems / Adversity
- Published: 10/24/2012
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I Promise
Harper kept her head down as she made her way to her locker after last hour. It had been yet another bad day at Hamilton High School. She hastily shoved the necessary books in her bag and started for the bus. After finding her seat, she attempted to block out her troubles with some loud music on her ipod. But she couldn’t focus. The words kept ringing through her mind. ‘No one will ever love you!‘ ‘You’re a worthless piece of trash!’ ‘Beautiful? Yeah right!’ and on and on the insults played like a broken record.
She was in the back seat of the bus, and no one was paying attention to her. She slowly unzipped the front pocket of her backpack. "No" she thought to herself, "just wait till you get home." But she couldn’t wait any longer. The voices were so threatening, the stress too much. Out of her backpack, she pulled a black piece of cloth, the remnant of an old tee-shirt, and unwrapped it to reveal its contents. A sleek, sharp razor with a pointed tip. It nearly glimmered in the sunlight, a sickening reminder of the power it had in store. Harper checked to see if anyone was looking. Nobody was paying attention, they never did.
She quickly pulled up the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt and lay the blade across and her wrist, pressing down, before angling it so the tip dug into her flesh. She dragged the tip across her skin in a downward motion. She watched as her skin split apart and then she exhaled slowly as the pressure was released from her mind. She looked down and was satisfied with the beads of blood that were now appearing along the cut. Watching in fascination as the amount of blood grew, she felt relief flood her entire being as it slowly streamed down her arm, dark and rich. She felt a sense of satisfaction and control after wiping away the blood and reviewing her work. She wrapped the razor in the scrap of cloth and packed it away in her bag.
Upon looking out the window, Harper realized that they were almost to her stop. She zipped up her bag and started for the front of the bus. As she did so, she was nearly tripped many times and as she passed, one of the kids said, "Go jump off a cliff, ugly." At that moment, she quickened her pace and ran off the bus, not stopping until she reached her front door. She let herself in because, as always, no one was home. With her dad being deployed to Iraq and her mom working a double shift at the hospital, she felt like she lived alone in this house.
After monotonously finishing her homework, Harper turned on the TV to the local news station. Midstory was a reporter talking about a suicide that happened the night before only a few miles from her home. A picture appeared on the screen and the face set before her looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. When the name appeared, she knew right away. Charlotte Evans, her best friend all through elementary school. They had grown apart after Charlotte started attending a different middle school. “Poor Charlotte,” she thought, “how could anyone do something so horrible to themselves?” The story continued with the reporter giving details about funeral arrangements and visitation times, but Harper was deep in thought about the memories she had shared with her friend.
School the next day was even worse. Nothing went well for Harper. When she got home she went straight to her room and pulled out the razor blade. She held it to her wrist but something stopped her from applying the necessary pressure to make the cut. It was Charlotte. She had thrown away her life because of something other people said. But cutting was different right? It wasn’t like Harper would actually kill herself. She may sometimes feel like dying, but would she ever actually go through with it? What if she cut too deep or in the wrong spot and lost too much blood? The thought of dying actually scared her now that she thought about it. “I can’t do this.” Harper whispered to herself before loosening her clenched fist from around the razor blade.
Before, she hadn’t seen the harm in cutting, it was just her way of coping with all of the stress and pressure of each day. But there was more to it than just one quick slice and done. Harper had scars lining her left arm. Some dark, some light, some raised from her skin as a permanent reminder of what she had been doing to herself for over the last two years since her dad left for Iraq. Hundreds of little lines and zigzags from her trying to take control of her emotions when in reality the emotional pain was only blocked out by the physical pain for the time it took the blood to dry.
“I need help,” she thought to herself. But from who? Her mom would never take her seriously, she didn’t have a close friend. The only person she could really talk to was thousands of miles away. She would try, she had to try. She grabbed her cellphone off of her desk and a wrinkled sticky note with a phone number scribbled on it. “This is for emergencies only,” her father had said, “Only what you think is extremely important. I love you, Harper.” Those were the last words her father had said to her before he boarded the plane to Iraq. This was an emergency. With shaky fingers, she carefully dialed the number and listened for it to ring. No answer. She waited for the recording and then with an exhalation, started talking. “Hi Daddy, it’s me, Harper. There's something I need to tell you because I feel like you are the only one who will care to listen.” Harper paused. “Since you left, I’ve been cutting myself, and i want to stop now. I need your help. I need your support. I just want to know that you love me. Please call back or email me or something. I love you, Bye.”
Later that night, Harper’s phone buzzed with a voicemail. She opened it and heard the familiar voice of the one she loved with all her heart. But it had a different tone. It was the soft, compassionate side of her father that she rarely saw as a child. “Harper, I don’t have much time so I am going to make this quick. You are the most beautiful girl i know. You are strong for being there for your mother in my place. Don’t let what people say bother you, because no matter what, I love you. Please stop hurting yourself. If for no other reason, do it for me. Even if I can’t hear you say it and even if I don’t make it home, I want you to promise me that you won’t harm yourself again. I love you Harper, goodbye.”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Harper wrapped up her knife in the old, rugged tee-shirt and threw it in the trash. Never again would she cut. She promised for her dad, and for Charlotte, who lost all strength against her emotions. Most of all, Harper promised for herself.
I Promise(Ellie Joy)
I Promise
Harper kept her head down as she made her way to her locker after last hour. It had been yet another bad day at Hamilton High School. She hastily shoved the necessary books in her bag and started for the bus. After finding her seat, she attempted to block out her troubles with some loud music on her ipod. But she couldn’t focus. The words kept ringing through her mind. ‘No one will ever love you!‘ ‘You’re a worthless piece of trash!’ ‘Beautiful? Yeah right!’ and on and on the insults played like a broken record.
She was in the back seat of the bus, and no one was paying attention to her. She slowly unzipped the front pocket of her backpack. "No" she thought to herself, "just wait till you get home." But she couldn’t wait any longer. The voices were so threatening, the stress too much. Out of her backpack, she pulled a black piece of cloth, the remnant of an old tee-shirt, and unwrapped it to reveal its contents. A sleek, sharp razor with a pointed tip. It nearly glimmered in the sunlight, a sickening reminder of the power it had in store. Harper checked to see if anyone was looking. Nobody was paying attention, they never did.
She quickly pulled up the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt and lay the blade across and her wrist, pressing down, before angling it so the tip dug into her flesh. She dragged the tip across her skin in a downward motion. She watched as her skin split apart and then she exhaled slowly as the pressure was released from her mind. She looked down and was satisfied with the beads of blood that were now appearing along the cut. Watching in fascination as the amount of blood grew, she felt relief flood her entire being as it slowly streamed down her arm, dark and rich. She felt a sense of satisfaction and control after wiping away the blood and reviewing her work. She wrapped the razor in the scrap of cloth and packed it away in her bag.
Upon looking out the window, Harper realized that they were almost to her stop. She zipped up her bag and started for the front of the bus. As she did so, she was nearly tripped many times and as she passed, one of the kids said, "Go jump off a cliff, ugly." At that moment, she quickened her pace and ran off the bus, not stopping until she reached her front door. She let herself in because, as always, no one was home. With her dad being deployed to Iraq and her mom working a double shift at the hospital, she felt like she lived alone in this house.
After monotonously finishing her homework, Harper turned on the TV to the local news station. Midstory was a reporter talking about a suicide that happened the night before only a few miles from her home. A picture appeared on the screen and the face set before her looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. When the name appeared, she knew right away. Charlotte Evans, her best friend all through elementary school. They had grown apart after Charlotte started attending a different middle school. “Poor Charlotte,” she thought, “how could anyone do something so horrible to themselves?” The story continued with the reporter giving details about funeral arrangements and visitation times, but Harper was deep in thought about the memories she had shared with her friend.
School the next day was even worse. Nothing went well for Harper. When she got home she went straight to her room and pulled out the razor blade. She held it to her wrist but something stopped her from applying the necessary pressure to make the cut. It was Charlotte. She had thrown away her life because of something other people said. But cutting was different right? It wasn’t like Harper would actually kill herself. She may sometimes feel like dying, but would she ever actually go through with it? What if she cut too deep or in the wrong spot and lost too much blood? The thought of dying actually scared her now that she thought about it. “I can’t do this.” Harper whispered to herself before loosening her clenched fist from around the razor blade.
Before, she hadn’t seen the harm in cutting, it was just her way of coping with all of the stress and pressure of each day. But there was more to it than just one quick slice and done. Harper had scars lining her left arm. Some dark, some light, some raised from her skin as a permanent reminder of what she had been doing to herself for over the last two years since her dad left for Iraq. Hundreds of little lines and zigzags from her trying to take control of her emotions when in reality the emotional pain was only blocked out by the physical pain for the time it took the blood to dry.
“I need help,” she thought to herself. But from who? Her mom would never take her seriously, she didn’t have a close friend. The only person she could really talk to was thousands of miles away. She would try, she had to try. She grabbed her cellphone off of her desk and a wrinkled sticky note with a phone number scribbled on it. “This is for emergencies only,” her father had said, “Only what you think is extremely important. I love you, Harper.” Those were the last words her father had said to her before he boarded the plane to Iraq. This was an emergency. With shaky fingers, she carefully dialed the number and listened for it to ring. No answer. She waited for the recording and then with an exhalation, started talking. “Hi Daddy, it’s me, Harper. There's something I need to tell you because I feel like you are the only one who will care to listen.” Harper paused. “Since you left, I’ve been cutting myself, and i want to stop now. I need your help. I need your support. I just want to know that you love me. Please call back or email me or something. I love you, Bye.”
Later that night, Harper’s phone buzzed with a voicemail. She opened it and heard the familiar voice of the one she loved with all her heart. But it had a different tone. It was the soft, compassionate side of her father that she rarely saw as a child. “Harper, I don’t have much time so I am going to make this quick. You are the most beautiful girl i know. You are strong for being there for your mother in my place. Don’t let what people say bother you, because no matter what, I love you. Please stop hurting yourself. If for no other reason, do it for me. Even if I can’t hear you say it and even if I don’t make it home, I want you to promise me that you won’t harm yourself again. I love you Harper, goodbye.”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Harper wrapped up her knife in the old, rugged tee-shirt and threw it in the trash. Never again would she cut. She promised for her dad, and for Charlotte, who lost all strength against her emotions. Most of all, Harper promised for herself.
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