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Gangle opened the door to her room and quietly shut it behind her. She put her back against the back of the door and slowly sank down until she was sitting on the floor. She was tired and exhausted. She put her mask in her ribbon hands. Her comedy mask had long been broken, but it didn’t matter. She would still be feeling empty anyway, and that would show through on the comedy mask.
Today’s adventure was especially rough. Jax was tormenting her the whole time, making fun of her as usual. She really couldn’t blame him. She knew she was an easy target. She deserved it too. She was just a pathetic excuse of a human being, with her exaggerated emotions plastered all over the place with her dueling masks. Everyone hated her, she just knew it. Jax was the only one just brutally honest enough to show it.
Her dimly lit room was a nice change from the bright colors of the circus. She liked being in her room, alone, away from all of the colors, away from all of the noise. Gangle had always seen herself as someone who was artistic, but just not good enough. That’s why she had given up on pursuing art. She just wasn’t good enough. But yet, that never stopped her from drawing.
Drawing always seemed to calm Gangle down, in the worst of times. Art was always an escape from the real world. Or whatever this world was. Whether it was in the Circus, or the actual real world, art was a means of escape. She could melt away, and imagine wonders through her art.
Gangle picked herself up and walked to her desk, to find her sketchbook. She was never much for coloring her drawings; she preferred them in black and white. She just liked inked drawings. She sighed as she picked up her notebook, unable to think of what to draw. Even though she reached in the deepest pits of her mind, she could not come up with an ounce of creativity.
Thoughts spun in her mind. About Jax, and how everyone probably hated her now. After her breakdown, there was no way anyone would want to talk to her. She wondered if the pills in the real world really did help her after all. She didn’t have access to any of that in the Circus, so she had been going cold turkey on medication for months now. She thought she was fine at first, or as fine as anyone could be in the Circus. But her emotions were all over the place, her thoughts never at bay.
She stared down at her desk and looked at the cup holding all her different pens and other utensils. Before she knew it, she realized she was absentmindedly holding a pair of scissors.
One snip couldn’t hurt, she thought to herself. Her ribbon hands that held the scissors were shaking.
No, she thought. I can’t do this to myself, not here, not again. Gangle reminisced about the days back in the real world, the days when she felt she couldn’t handle it anymore. She held a thin razor in her hands, as her hands would swear and shake, as she slowly dug the blade into her wrist.
One cut, that’s all I need she’d tell herself. The blood would seep out through the wound, slowly trickling its way down her arm. But then she couldn’t stop after just one. Another, and another. Before she knew it there were cuts all over her arms, her thighs, thin lines scattered across her frail skin.
Snip
She carefully took the scissors to her other ribbon arm and cut a little snippet of ribbon. Loose threads appeared from where the cut was made. Gangle winced at the pain. She set the scissors down and pulled at a loose thread. She tugged at the red twine as it twisted and scrunched up as she pulled it. The thread came fully loose. She dropped it on the floor.
The pain proved that what she was feeling was completely real. She may not have a real body anymore, and no blood to shed. But the ribbons were unthreading, unwinding, falling apart. That was still very real.
Gangle continued to cut at herself, taking small snippets, not fully cutting through her ribbons, but just enough for thread to come loose that she could pull apart. The tugging of the threads felt very real. She wasn’t really thinking as she was hurting herself. Just cut and pull, snip and tug…
Knock Knock
Suddenly, Gangle snapped out of her trance, as she heard the knocking noise on her door.
Oh no, what have I done? She asked herself. She stared at the now pile of ribbon thread on the floor, her body covered in little snips from the scissors.
“Gangle? Are you there?” the voice asked. It was Zooble.
“No…” Gangle quivered, nearly in tears.
“Gangle, I’m coming in,” Zooble said concernedly. Before Gangle could protest, the door opened. She hadn’t locked it. Zooble looked at Gangle in complete disbelief, her hand over her nonexistent mouth.
There was no way Zooble would look at her the same way now. She had destroyed her own body. Nobody looked at her the same way when they saw her scars. She was just told she was starved for attention, and that she was selfish for hurting herself. Her parents yelled at her when they found out, yelled at her for being selfish for hurting herself like that. At first her friends acted like they cared, but when the self-harm became repetitive, they got over it. Slowly, one by one, they all disappeared.
“Gangle, sh*t” Zooble said, the Circus censoring their swear. Gangle was softly crying.
“I’m… sorry… Zooble… I couldn’t help it” she croaked. Zooble walked over, crouched down and embraced Gangle who was sitting on the floor.
“Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be okay, just talk to me” Zooble said. Gangle sniffled and let her tears come down.
“I’m sorry…” Gangle began sobbing and Zooble embraced her even tighter.
The two embraced each other for a long time, as Gangle cried in Zooble’s arms. She explained how worthless she had been feeling, and how she felt everyone in the Circus hated her. She sobbed and sobbed, and Zooble just listened. Zooble finally let go of their embrace and put their hands on Gangle’s shoulders.
“Never, do that again” Zooble said, staring into Gangle’s eyes. “I will always be here for you, you are worthy, never do that again. Talk to me if you ever feel like this.”
Gangle nodded slowly. Though it was hard to believe it, she knew Zooble was trying to comfort her. And at that moment, that was enough. Talking to someone was just enough to stop her from the act.