Title: Glass

(Originally "Taking Life")

Author: gummyworms

Summary: Shattered glass. Broken, yet still fragile. Inanimate, lifeless, waiting to be swept away. Anna. Until she is attempted repair by a certain orange headphone wearing boy, of course.

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Special thanks to pendulumxswing for being my beta-reader. Weeee.

Chapter One.

My day begins as I become aware of the screaming of my mother towards my father. I lift an eyelid slowly as I lay sprawled on the dirty carpet under a thin sheet of faded black blanket. Unintelligible shouts erupt from the living room. Over the years, I have learned to ignore it and make it my alarm clock.

I slowly stand up, stretching my thin arms. Tousled golden locks fall into my eyes, and I shake them away irritably. As I walk out of the small, pathetic excuse for a bedroom, my eye catches the old mirror with the unadorned black frame hanging from the wall. In the scratched glass I can see the tired face of a fifteen-year-old girl. Disheveled hair that looked almost exactly like dirty farm straw hung around her face, spilling messily to her gaunt shoulders. Dark bags were visible under her empty mud-colored eyes, standing out on her pale, weary face. However, I was the only one who could truly see into this creature that held an emotionless expression. Through my eyes and mine alone, I could see what a bitch she was. I could see she was violent and short-tempered, ugly and pessimistic. I could see she was whiny and annoyingly overly sensitive. I could see how despondent and depressed she was; how she felt pointless and miserable. I could see that she was a victim of self-mutilation, and how she was on the brink of suicide.

I could see everything.

And I hated all of it.

I turn away, disgusted at the sight of myself. Why did I bother keeping this mirror up for all these weeks? I walk to the mirror and throw it to the ground. It shatters, leaving many small shards in the gray carpet. I kneel down and pick up a shard, staring detachedly at it for a while. Then, I hold it to my thin, ashen arm. I pick a spot near my elbow and slowly slice through. My skin tears, revealing a line of crimson, adding to the vast collection of scabs, scars, and cuts on my skin. I smile slightly at the sight of my blood beginning to well up around the cut. I hated everything about myself. I loved that I could so easily punish it.

After several moments of watching myself bleed, I stand and walk to the bathroom. There I began to somewhat unconsciously brush my teeth and comb my hair. Over time I have learned how to do these tedious tasks with my mind wandering to nowhere, leaving my body to do the usual habit. In the mirror, the girl looked completely impassive.

When I finish, I walk back to my room and begin to dress into my school uniform. I glance at the clock. School begins in twenty minutes. As I undress, copious scars and cuts as well as large bruises are revealed all over my scrawny body. I wonder why I even get up in the morning.

I go to the corner of my room and pick up my black brief case. It is light with no homework. I was going to die anyway, why bother? I did not want any of this school crap. I always feel too dejected to do the homework anyway.

The broken glass still lay scattered amongst the dirty carpet. I leave it there.

I walk into the living room. The loud arguments have died down and my parents have retreated to their own little corners of the house to retaliate, but the battle scene is obviously left behind. Broken glass, spilled milk, and a small amount of blood are sitting in the living room, expecting to be cleaned up. I snort in disapproval and walk out of the house to school.

&&&

I go to school because I have nothing better to do. I tried ditching a couple of times, but people would look at me and ask, "Why aren't you in school?" I do not respond, and they would call the authorities to pick me up. Ironically, the only time people ever pay attention to me is when they suspect I've broken a rule of some sort. Hah. I live in a damned city, and people are everywhere. I very well could not stay at home, where my bitchy parents took shelter.

People slowly draw back or flash me weary or hostile glances as I pass by. I walk emotionlessly, like a doll, like a person without a soul. Like a living dead person.

In homeroom, I take my assigned seat. Unfortunately, I was given the seat next to one of the nosiest little bastards in the school, Boroboro. The hyperactive Ainu dashes in a few moments after I am seated, a stupid grin on his face as he sits down. I hate him. I wish he would shut up. I wish I could rip his annoying mouth off of his stupid happy face. I wish he would die. I wish everyone would die.

However, my wishes could not be fulfilled. There were too many witnesses about, and my stupid soul was too much of a coward to commit murder. I could hurt people, yes, but I could not muster enough willpower to kill them. Instead, I give Boroboro a death glare. He shuts up with a start, quivering under my fierce glower. I look away, satisfied with his silence.

I start detaching myself from reality again, just like I did when I was brushing my teeth and combing my hair. My mind becomes completely empty, and I am once more the living dead girl.

"What is your problem?"

I snap back to reality in reaction to my quick reflexes. I do not turn my head. Instead, my eyes travel to the source of the noise, a girl with short chestnut-brown hair and hands on her hips beside my desk. She is frowning angrily at me. I say nothing.

"Well?" she demanded. "Horohoro never did anything with intentions to annoy you. Why do you have to be so mean?"

A friend of the moron.

"Drop dead," I mutter quietly. Despite my low voice, a sharp icy tone was ensured.

The girl flinched.

"You're such a bitch," she whines in her annoyingly loud voice.

Shut up.

Just be quiet.

Just die.

"Why do you think you're above everyone else!"

On the outside, I do not respond. On the inside, I am shaking with humiliation. Over the years, I have learned to not show my extreme sensitivity, but not to destroy it. My heart was lurching miserably. Inner Anna was clutching her head in pain and degradation, hating herself more and more for being such a bitch.

"Why do you think you're above everyone else!"

It echoes, echoes, echoes in my mind, making me loathe myself further.

She did not understand. She should go die.

She did not know me at all. She did not know how much I was crying inside, how much her little comments have affected me, how much I did not care and how much I wished everyone, including me, would just die.

I did not think I was above anyone. In fact, I thought I was the lowliest piece of crap on the planet.

Damn her.

Then the homeroom teacher walks in. The girl quickly dashes to her desk. I see Boroboro glance at her gratefully. I wish him a painful, searing death.

I listen to the teacher's blabbering until he takes roll call. When he calls my name, I do not answer. I speak when I feel I need to. As always, his eyes hunt irritably around the classroom for the tired emotionless face after calling my name. He overlooks me a few times, and then spots me, pointing his chewed-up pencil at me and then marking the attendance sheet.

What the hell? What was with that pencil gesture? Was he trying to suggest, "You, you with the farm straw hair, start talking or I'll point at you with my sordid pencil of doom."?

I feel annoyed again, and await the dismissal bell. When it sounds, I walk swiftly out of the classroom to my next class.

School has a monotonous set of events. People recoil, I glare, teachers blather, I detach, I hurt, teachers assign homework, I ignore, I daydream of everyone's death, and I hate.

I hated this. I hated everything. I wanted to die, but I was too much of a coward to do it. The weight of life chained me down.

I detested the people. Some of them are afraid of me. Others hate me. I hate them more. What did they know? What did they care? What was wrong with them? They did not even try to understand. They did not know what I have to go through. My exterior holds an angry and violent image while my inner soul is depressed, despondent, and suicidal. A soul cannot live on this, thus inside I am deteriorating. Inside, I am crumbling.

"Home" also holds a repetitive schedule. It consists of abuse from my parents, holding off homework, a little bit of eating, sleep, abuse from me, hate, and more abuse. I hated my mother and father. I hated when they hurt me because it was out of anger, like I was a tool, not in consideration that I enjoyed pain and the sight of my skin changing from damage. This fact simply ruined it for me, and I feel disgusted when I look at the bruises made in vain. Sometimes I fight back, but they are bigger than me, and they know I will not do anything more. Once I wondered why I did not call the police on them. I hated them, after all. However, I suppose there was some small piece of my heart that was not all black, a piece that would not let me be responsible for having my own flesh and blood arrested.

After I get the day over with, I lay on the dirty carpet on an old pillow under the thin, used blanket. I have a bed, one that is lumpy, aged, and much less comfortable than the floor.

Why do you think you're above everyone else!

I shut my eyes tightly and clutch my blanket. I won't cry. I learned to stop crying a long time ago.

As I begin drift to sleep, my only means of escape from this world I call hell on earth, I notice the glass is still there. It is shattered, broken, bloody, and inanimate... Just like me.

A/N: End chapter one. It was more of an introduction.

As author, I have two requests for all of you.

One, review for Forgotten Child, and make pendulumxswing update. Then we'll feel happy.

Two, review for my fanfiction. Comments, criticism, suggestions, critique, etc. all welcome and appreciated. I've had the first three chapters written out for the longest time, but was too lazy to continue. I think perhaps reviews will encourage me to update. Meh.

Of course, both requests are optional, but greatly appreciated. kthnx.