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Devil's Choir Chapter 1 Part 1
As always, I felt the sting of guilt seep through my body. My chest rose and lowered, in a slow, rhythmic motion. It hurt all over. The pang of letting almost one million people down.         I heard my brother call out. “Yeah?”         “I’m going to work, I’ll be back in about four hours for dinner.”         “Alright, love you,” I yelled back. I then heard the door slam shut, echoing through the house and the dead bolts clicking closed, ceased to exist.         The pain in my chest didn’t go away; I tried to think of happier times, but all that managed to escape were the short, bled out memories of my old childhood friend, Andy. I was a freshman in highschool, just trying to get through the most scariest part of my highschool career, and he was a senior, not giving a single care about anything. He kept saying he was going to move, I never actually believed him. He was my best, and only friend.         Without realizing, tears soaked my cheeks. I slowly got up from my beige carpeted room and staggered to the bathroom across the hall. I sat on the toilet and reached to my side to pull my makeup bag from the drawer. I pulled my blade from the secret zipper at the bottom and angled it purposely so it would gleam from the light. I hesitated, but not long enough to actually think about what I was doing. My heart began to race. Pulling back and forth. I brought the blade down to my wrist. Very lightly, I slide it across. Not enough to do any damage, but still enough to bring that bright red liquid to see daylight.         Tears started to cease as I panted. The walls seemed to become larger. Everything was slowed down. Seconds seem like minutes. Minutes seem like hours. I decide keeping this up wouldn’t be a good idea. I put the blade back in my bag, not taking the time to put it in the secret sleeve. I leaned over to put my bleeding arm over the sink but failed to while sitting down, so I stood up and ran boiling hot water over  the open flesh. The sting of pain came back, now I can say it hurt me to leave my fans. I kept my arm under the water until it ran clear, I then proceeded to bend over the toilet.

  Lifting the lid up and staring into the clear water, I looked at my traumatized hand and shoved my index and middle finger deep in my throat. Gagging and throwing up the contents of my breakfast. I sat still, looking at the mess I’ve made, until I stood up suddenly and flushed the evidence down.
  ‘If I get caught,’ I thought to myself. ‘I’ll be in that hellhole for six months.’ I shuttered at the thought and went back to my room. I sat down at my camcorder and stared into space, thinking of all the crap I’ve  been through. I laid down on my side as my dog, Batman, came in the room. I sat back up, so he couldn’t like my face off.
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