In the dark, lying on the bed, her mother says, “All of my daughters are leaving me for boys with penises. One by one. All want to suck penises and have sex.”

“I haven’t fucked anybody yet,” she replies, “Maybe I should, just to prove you right.”

“Nothing but a... a cheap prostitute,” comes the impulsive retort, "Damn cheap!"

The girl gets out of bed. Opens the wooden door. Slams the door. Walks into the bathroom. Switches on the blinding bright light. Slams the door. Breathes, heavily. Fantasizes on hurting herself. Just close your eyes and try to picture this: Lines and lines of red on your slender wrist. A lovely, lovely red. A red like saccharine sweet candy that you want to press your mouth hard against so it colours your lips like lipstick. A red you want to lick and swallow.

She sits down on the toilet bowl. The lightbulb above her creates a faint halo ring around her head and throws broad feathery shadows on the walls. She pulls down her panty, and there it is- a dark crimson stain on her starched white underwear. It smells like raw fishes and hand plucked morning flowers.

Fresh red blood dripping down the insides of her thin white thighs.

“I’m bleeding,” she thinks, and then lets out a soft laugh.