The Wrists

Trigger warning: self harm, abuse

“Shut up everyone, Transparent Leaf is here!” shouted out the backbencher as the combination of shouts dissolved into a hushed silence. Soon enough, a twelve year old girl, much frailer than the rest of the class, with nearly white hair and eyebrows entered the classroom. She stood at the doorstep for a split second. Catching the stares and laughter at her, she walked up to her usual desk, which was at the corner at the back of the class, deserted from the rest. Flopping her schoolbag down on the floor, she placed herself on the deserted chair and gave a groan of dismay as she found several words scribbled on her desk.

“What’s the point?” she asked herself. “What do they gain from all this?”

“Transparent leaf!”

“You really should kill yourself! You weren’t meant to be on this planet!”

“Your drunk father should have sent you away for adoption! My eyes are cursed every time I look at your ugly face! The mirror must be throwing up too, loser!”

“Your mother probably killed herself because she felt guilty of giving birth to such a child!”

Janet was used to all this by now. She let out a sigh and started erasing all the words and then stopped in the middle. “What’s the point? They’ll write again tomorrow,” she muttered to herself. Having albino really wasn’t easy. 7th grade and the bullying still continued. She didn’t know what she detested more- being in school or at home.

School was full of abusive words, people laughing at her. Being at home wasn’t much better either. Her father would spend the entire day drinking with his friends and would come home absolutely drunk in the middle of the night, grumbling all kinds of gibberish and throwing his arms about. And when her father was outside, she would cut her skin with the six inch long knife that she had discreetly brought from the store room. "But what's the point in complaining? No one's going to listen. And it's not like things get better, they just keep getting worse," she often said to herself. Oh, I almost forgot, you must be wondering why her classmates called her ‘transparent leaf’. Well, the ‘transparent’ was because she had been diagnosed with albino and the ‘leaf’ was because she was the most fragile, delicate thing. And the founder of the name was Leo Oscar. He had black messy hair that was almost never combed, a scar on his left cheek that took its form when he fell off his skateboard about a month back.

"Good morning class! Is everyone present? Good," came a cheerful voice as a lady in her forties entered the classroom. "Well, we have CTP now, and if I'm not wrong I had asked you to write a poem each. You're up first, Claire."

"Um, I didn't realize we were gonna have it today, Miss Jonson," a meek voice came.

"Oh my, why can't we have a single activity where all of you remember the topic? Never mind Claire, you're up next Janet,"

Janet stood up, hesitant her legs quivering slightly, feeling sure that the class wouldn't give it a thought before 'booing' in front of the teacher.

"Whenever you're ready, Janet," the teacher smiled comfortingly at the twelve year old who was practically being swallowed by nervousness as Janet began wth a shaky voice-

“Over time, the bright, hazel eyes had been followed by dark circles

And the toothy grin had taken the form of a strained smile,

She felt that all her life she had not done anything worthwhile.

Standing in front of the shattered mirror,

Her quivering hands grasping the basin,

She let her mind race back, reminding her of all the times she had had to put up with others’ teasing.

One hand held a knife, while the other kept grasping the basin,

She looked around at the house she had been raised in.

Every corner had a memory attached to it,

Perhaps, the memories would be wiped off when she would leave,

And perhaps, what her feelings all along were, no one would believe.

21st November, she still remembered the first day that she had cut through her skin,

She wondered whether what she had done was a sin or a win.

All her anger, all her grief, had been taken out on those two wrists.

Her mind raced back, reminding her how the blood had spurted out that day,

She knew if anyone asked her about the scars on her hands, she would not have anything to say.

But the strangest part was that she had not felt a thing.

Compared to whatever she had had to go through all this while,

Perhaps the cuts that now settled upon her skin were just a scratch,

She wondered if life was fighting against her in a match.

She looked up at the shattered mirror,

And suddenly, it all became clearer.

It was life fighting, and she was supposed to fight back,

Taking a deep breath, she decided to put the knife back on the rack.”

-Sampurna Dasgupta