Coming home from yet another exhausting day of school, she threw her backpack on the chair by the door and kicked her sandals off on the way to the kitchen. She yanked open the refrigerator door to vent her frustration. She grabbed the box of ice cream - Rocky Road, of course - and slammed it down to the table. She took a bite straight from the box. It was good and sweet, but her senses were numb to the taste.

Her mind was working overtime, bruising her with morbid thoughts of past mistakes. She just could not seem to do anything right. She was not sure when she first noticed the dull feeling in the pit of her stomach or the great apathy that had settled across her life.

And again, she was in tears for about the tenth time that week. Her parents had asked here again and again why she was so upset. Had something happened? She had shaken her head wordlessly and continued to sob, unable to verbalize her problem. With looks of concern, her parents had questioned why she was not happy; they loved her, they treated her well, and they were not poor. And still she had shaken her head. She knew she should be happy, she really should. But that just made it worse, because once again she just could not do anything right.

So, that day, through her tears, she stood up in a trance. Inch by inch, she moved to the cabinet drawer. Slowly, with her hand shaking the whole way, she drew it open. Gleaming in the corner were the knives. It would be so easy to end it right there. To stop all the problems, to end all the tears. What choice did she have? Her parents were about ready to send her to a psychiatrist. But she did not believe he could help and she did not want his help. She did not want anyone's help.

Blinded by her veil of tears, she grabbed a knife. It was the sharpest one they had. She lightly ran her fingertip down the edge. It would have to do it. She held up the knife, rotated it slowly, and watched the light reflected off the blade, which turned into a glorious iris through her blurred eyes. Gradually, the tears had been replaced with a deadly calm fascination. How would she be remembered? How would her classmates think of her? A bright young girl with so many reasons to live? Such a tragedy, really. Ha, she laughed bitterly. Then why did she have these feelings? She brought the knife to her wrist and held it steady.

It was totally blank in her mind. This would end it; this would do it; this would bring an end to all her sufferings and tears. She was ready. She was going to do it.

The sound of her parents' car speeding up the driveway rushed through her ears along with the rhythm of the blood pumping strongly in her arteries. They were coming back. She could hear them talking. She had to make a decision now. It was now or never.

As suddenly as she had seized it, she dropped the knife, and it fell with a loud clatter that snapped her out of her reverie. Once again, she could not go through with anything. She just had time enough to grab a magazine and seat herself back at the table when her parents came through the door, smiling.

"Hi, honey. How was your day?"