She held the blade and slid it across her inner thigh. She held it with her left hand. Her fingertips turned yellow as the blood escaped them from the pressure. She pushed the edge of the blade into her skin. Slowly, pressing. Slowly, moving inwards. A drop. Full of red. A river. Gushing out with freedom.
She closed her eyes. Drowning in her own demise. Her pieces falling apart. Her life floating into oblivion.
Her life is red.
Her life is black.
Her life is gone.