Need some help... (Kaveh.)

[Alyss Jay Blake]

Alyss Jay Blake was tired of the pain of the madness she had found herself wrapped up in. She felt the stinging pain in her heart, the fresh mark on her wrist from her own knife. The pocket knife rested easily in her pocket, the new stains of blood covering it as she clamped a hand over her bleeding wrist. She had figured it would have stopped bleeding by the time she reached Arkham. She didn't want to admit to anyone she was coming here, so she told no one. If she was locked up, she wouldn't have to return to Michael, nor would she need to tell anyone she had been working for him. She hated feeling like she was running away, but the truth was, she was running away. She didn't want to deal with the world anymore, but didn't want to die again. She didn't want to risk James feeling the tie sever again.

Don't worry Alyss, he doesn't care about you anymore. Her mind whispered to her. Just stop. You have the knife with you. Don't admit you are weak and seek help. Just slit your throat here. You will do much better that way. Your family doesn't care about you any more. Your mother hates you - she left you didn't she - and your father is a drunk. Your husband locked himself up, and when you went to see him, only pushed you away. Just kiss life goodbye and en your suffering here and now.

[/i] Her mind taunted her.

She stopped moving, just sitting there. She moved her hand away from her bleeding wrist, letting her blood drip onto the ground. She slipped her hand into her pocket, closing her fingers around the pocket knife. Slowly she drew it out. The black plastic cover was quite smooth to the touch, considering the deadly purposes this knife had been used for, it wasn't the model it was supposed to be. She ran her thumb over the cool plastic, considering the option her brain had given her. The voice was right at least. She nodded faintly. Her brain was right after all. She did hate admitting to being weak. In fact, she despised it. So why didn't she just give up? There was no point in staying alive in this world anyways. Her husband didn't seem to care. Her family was a thing of the past. She had no friends... What was the point in staying alive. She didn't see one. She didn't even know if there was one. She didn't want to live long enough to find it anymore.

She slowly opened the blade. The old rusty stains from not cleaning the blade after slicing into her own flesh. She didn't ever feel like cleaning it, considering most times she cut herself she would pass out before it was over. Maybe she would do that now. Cut herself too deep to be repaired and just wait for the world to go black. She could do that. She was used to the pain now. There was no one around to stop her. She could have her last moment of strength and kill herself before she gave up. End her miserable life before she sank any lower into the abyss she had let herself be dragged into. She had died once before. It wasn't so bad. Not like life was. To kill one's self before they themselves could become the thing they had once promised themselves to never become. Alyss had vowed to never let herself sink into darkness. And she had let herself fall deeper than she ever imagined she possibly could.

Alyss slowly ran her thumb along the blade of the knife. She didn't feel it bite into her skin, and that meant the blade wasn't as sharp as she usually kept it. Doubt flickered through her for a moment. The pain she would feel to slice open her wrist, or her throat, with a dull blade. Perhaps it was her time to just let the pain be there so it would end a little later. She thought it would work. Maybe not in the splendid and painless manor she hoped for, but it would be over quickly if she cut her throat open. The images of her blood spraying across the light gray concrete she now sat on. Her eyes drifted over to look at the black gates of Arkham. "Fitting.....to die by the black gates of what was once hell...yet was so close to your saving grace..." She whispered to herself, not waning to do it now.

Don't be a coward. Her mind growled.

The growl spurred her into action once again. She lifted the blade slowly to her neck, thinking about perhaps what she would say to James if she could. But that would have only mattered if he happened to be in her mind right now. Which she strongly doubted. She moved the knife for a moment, looking at the line of gushing red across her wrist. She dropped the blade down, her face screwing into a wince as she dragged the blade across her arm again, just above the previous cut. She bit her lip in pain as she watched the blood start to rise and flow from her body, dripping onto the concrete. She shook her head, looking at the blood dripping, taking the path of smooth water down her arm. But it wasn't water. No matter how much she wished it was. It was not water. It was blood. Her blood. Blood that she had so readily been shedding herself as of late. But she didn't care any longer. What was there to care about? Slowly, she lifted the knife back towards her neck. In her mind she could see the line of red across her throat. She could feel the pain that she would feel when she did it. The trouble she would have to breath as blood would pour down her neck. She took a breath and pressed the knife harder against her throat, the first beads of red beginning to appear.[/color][/center]

(1015 words...... O.o ..... )