Cherry Red

Sarah had been sitting for hours, staring at the blank page in front of her. She had no words left to write. Her soul was empty and used up like last week's leftovers. She felt nothing. No joy. No anger. No sadness.Even in her dark remembrances, there was a numbness that clung to her, protecting her from the inner demons who were hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to inflict their pain.

There was relief in her frozen state, for even in remembering, she felt nothing. The images in her mind were like watching a movie of someone else's tragedy, minus the popcorn.She avoided anything that might trigger her feelings...popsicles, sunshine, the park and baby strollers.

Writing used to be a help as well, for she could create imaginary worlds and get lost in someone else's life. It was a perfect escape, but now the blank page mocked her as if to say, I told you it wouldn't last forever.

Sarah stood up and began to pace the floor. Sometimes this would spark her creative juices. The creak of a floorboard...the flicker of a light bulb...spilled coffee grounds...all had sparked her creativity in the past. This time, however...her pacing sparked nothing.She passed by the bathroom mirror and caught a glimpse of herself. Stopping, she stared into the hollow eyes staring back at her. There was nothing there. It was like looking at a dead person. Perhaps I am dead, she thought to herself. After all, dead people don't feel.

Opening the medicine cabinet, she slowly removed a razor blade from its package. She examined it for a moment before sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet. She then proceeded to slowly and methodically press it into her thigh.She was unsure of what she first noticed...the pain...or the bright red blood that began seeping over her creamy white skin. She thought the contrast was strikingly beautiful. She slowly pushed the blade into the other thigh and winced as it sliced into her flesh. Mesmerized, she watched the rivulets of blood make their way down her legs and onto the floor. She was alive after all. The pain and the blood were both proof of that.

Tears began to fill her eyes. She blinked hard to keep them from falling, but they fell anyway, splashing onto her cuts...the saltiness making the sting even worse. The floodgates opened and she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing for the first time in months.

Images began to flash through her mind and she could not make them stop. Holding her baby...breathing in her sweet scent...laughing as she cooed and giggled...watching the cherry popsicle melt all over her tiny hands as she pushed her in the stroller...running only a few feet to the car to retrieve the baby wipes which had fallen from the diaper bag onto the floorboard...and returning to find the stroller empty. She never saw her baby again.

Lying on the floor, razor blade in hand, Sarah's sobs quieted with a new realization. With one slice of each wrist, she could put an end to it all...the numbness, the pain, the guilt. With only two slices, she could remain on the floor and watch the red blood cover her hands. They would be red and sticky...like the hands that held a red cherry popsicle months ago.

Sarah held the blade to her wrist, but she could not do it. She could not make herself push the blade in. It was almost as if some invisible force was holding her back.In anger and frustration, she threw the blade across the room and screamed "Why won't you just let me die? PLEASE just let me die!" She sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like hours.

When she finally opened her swollen eyes, a voice spoke to her mind as clearly as a songbird on a summer day. I don't want you to die. I want you to write.

And just like that, Sarah felt a renewed sense of purpose. She carefully cleaned the wounds on her legs before sitting down at her desk once again. Hands shaking, she wrote a title at the top of the page:

CHERRY RED

At last, her story would be told.