Perfect

**more creative writing I wrote about in class when I was bored. I know, It's a new twist for me,

Slice

He looked down at the blade. It was covered by a thin scarlet layer of blood, and he watched his reflection; Begging for it to move, or do something. A tear fell and hit the blade, washing it of blood and saw himself clearly. Clearly as he had ever seen himself before. He was himself. No family, or friends. Not smart, athletic, or musical. He would never be anything special to anyone. He didn't hold a meaning to anyone at all. Slowly, he took the blade and slashed it across his wrist one last time. The intoxicating smell of rust, salt and copper enveloped his nose. A smell he was so familiar with, a scent he longed to smell, a scent that reminded him his heart was still pumping. He pulled his head back and smiled up at the fluorescent light above him. Deep red blood gathered the ends of the blade, and he smiled at his bloody complexion in the blade. It was red. Deep scarlet red painted upon his skin. It was what he wanted, To be coloured of some sort. To know that he was alive, to know his heart was still beating and the poison was still running through his veins.  He glanced down and smiled.

3 cuts, all cut in line and exact precision placed upon his porcelain skin. They looked perfect, In fact… they were perfect. They were everything he knew he'd never be.