Hi!

I smashed my fist into the piano keys and shouted at my dad to just “leave me alone if you want me to practice!”  and he stared at me with a glare, so destructive on one’s ego, to be murderous.  I could feel hot tears of anger staining my cheeks.  My father was still glaring at me silently, as if to infuriate me.  I sat down on the piano bench, and then he stalked off.  I could hear him yelling with my mom about me.  I heard keys rattling and a door slam.  I was so angry!  As soon as I heard my mom go upstairs, I raced into the kitchen and slit my left hand with a long, sharp knife.  I turn it face down on the counter and let the blood drip, making a deep, red stain on the white-washed wood.  I wince in pain, not caring at all about what my parents would think.  I wanted to prove to them that I didn’t care at all if I had to hurt myself to stop them from arguing.  As soon as the blood started to clot, I went back to the piano bench with a long, red slash in the center of my hand.  I went back to playing my recital piece, despite the severe pain that dug itself deeper into my skin, making me ever more agitated.  As soon as I finished, I ran upstairs into my room to brood on yet another family argument.  I didn’t care about the slash in my hand, or the knife, downstairs, stained red with blood.  I wanted to run away…

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I really think that this piece is so intense that many others will make up events so they can write pieces like this, but I want to assure you that sometimes that is a bad idea. The part with me cutting my hand and dropping blood on the counter is completely fictional, but I only added it to make the piece more intense. Do not make up fictional stories to make pieces, because this story is actually 3/4 true.