Looks: http://www.trulygraphics.com/w…10/10/sad-lonely-girl.jpg
Tara sat in her room, the door shut and locked. Her curtains were drawn. It was nearly fully dark in her bedroom. She slid open the draw on her night-stand silently and slowly she pulled out something, a little wooden box? Tara placed it on her lap and opened the lid with a key from a chain around her neck. The lid popped open and she reached in, then pulled out a silver object. With trembling hands she put the box down beside her and drew up the sleeve on her right arm. Scars criss-crossed over her skin. Some were old and some were new. A few still had blood seeping from them. Tara held the silver thing against a clear patch of skin. Very slowly she drew the blade along the belly of her forearm. Crimson blood rose up and spilled out of the cut, trickling over her arm. A river of bright red. She repeated the process again three times with trembling hands. Finally she dropped the blade back into the box, cleaned her cuts and wrapped them in bandages that also came from the box. Tara locked the box and put it away, tugging her sleeve down. With a final little shudder, she stood up, tears trailing down her pale cheeks. She dried the tears away and slipped out of her room. Silently she crept out of the house. Listening for the steps of her abusive mother or drunken father. Tara shivered as she stepped out the door. With a last look at the dreaded prison of her home, she ran down the street in the pouring rain. Soon she reached her high school and trudged up the stairs, she began shaking again. Her school was no relief from her terrible life at home, here she was abused mentally, bullied, down trodden and stripped of any emotional control she had.