She sits in the room, not 10 feet away, the kitchen drawer that holds the knife. She waits until midnight and creeps down the steps, She opens the big wooden drawer, the knife flashes in the dim-light. She clenches the handle rightly but still losing her grip because her hands were getting all sweaty. She raises the knife up to her neck but then drops it back down again closer to her wrist. She cutes once, and then twice, by the third time tears are streaming down her face. She thinks about what people had said, that they hate her and wish she were dead. She says this ones for you I hope your wish comes true. The knife goes up to her neck and with one last cut.. well... you should know the end.
