Those Scars. [[open to first two]]

[[rated PG/PG-13 for mentions of self-injury]]

Her dark round eyes flutter. Her hair, greasy and full of unnecessary shine, hangs loosely, framing her soft angelic face. Her tight white shirt, sodden from the rainfall, sticks to her now pasty russet skin. Brenna’s gray fleecy gray sweats cling against her thighs. She looks like a piece of trash, something worthless. She would normally disapprove of her appearance set out like this, but as of now, she’s oblivious to her surroundings and self.

The newly fallen snow glistens, glittering in the nightfall. She clenches her fists, softly, digging her sharp fingernails into the thin membrane of skin on her palm. The pain intensifies, then numbs over, relieving herself of all issues set upon her. She feels a wave of relief wash away her depression, resulting in a fifteen-year-old oblivious to her surroundings. She breathes in, soon letting out a sigh, furious with this world around her, not willing to let go of the past. Her breath fogs in front of her small face, warming her nose, with one tiny blackhead peeking out, reminding her that her beauty will never last.

Snow melts quickly on her hairs, causing her to freeze over, probably from not giving hell about not wearing a fleece coat. Her eyes scavenge for a sharpened weapon, with her remembering her thin blade. The knife, uncovered, lay inside her pocket, cutting into the skin of her thigh. She doesn’t once cry or wince in pain-stricken fear. This piercing sensation calms her, numbing away the pain, leaving only those scars.