Sorry for any wait. Thanks to all my reviewers and readers. This is the end as I had originally planned it. However, I think I'm going to post an epilogue.

Once again, redundant, squick, emo, incest mentioned, terribly short. Sounds like she's talking with ADD. But it makes sense if you take time to think about it, and not just skim over the words. Kinda.

Well, sorry bout the ADD thing. The other stuff is intentional. I think. Ha.

I hope I don't disappoint anyone with this chapter, nor annoy them to death.

Enjoy.
-

Gin Rummy.
Gambling with life.

Hello. I'm Gin, and not the drink. I've never told anyone before, so I'll tell you, now. I'm a cutter, and don't bother to hide it. Yeah, I said I've never told anyone, but no one's ever asked about the mysterious gashes across my hand, palm, arms or legs. My theory is that if they ask me, I may as well tell them, but no one seems to notice, or at the least, care.

I'll tell you how I started this. I know about Fred and George. I know about Ron too. I've seen Ron cutting. His eyes looked dull and hollow. He isn't even phased by the blade on his arm. But I've seen the spark in his eyes, the grin across his face while Fred holds him down and George fucks the hell out of him. It's weird to say the least. Ron is a major masochist and thinking of the twins as torturous, sadists... just creepy. I will say, when I first found out, I was a scared. I was confused and worried. This was disgusting, wrong, against everything of human nature, incest and pain for Merlin's sake! But...

Once... Once I was really mad. I was mad, scared, sad, hurt. After a death of a friend, being suppressed as the youngest, being ignored and confused all the time, it wears on you. So once I decided to see why Ron did what he did; I knew that I'd never be able to hurt people like the twins, I am a kind-hearted person. So I tried self-inflicted, intentional pain, just like Ron. I mean, obviously it works for some people.

So once I started with a knife, I discovered it's joys. I would poke through the skin and drag my sweet, silver blade through my flesh, cutting it open, letting the beautiful blood spill out. Once in a while, a little prick would send just enough blood through to send a shiver up my spine and adrenaline through my veins. I'd bring my thumb to my mouth and twirl my soft tongue around the magic, coppery taste of my blood. MY blood. The wonderful, bitter, sour and sweet taste of crimson. That's what my life tastes like, a metallic mixture of emotions, in a raw, agony of unique taste.

However, thrill is short lived. Adrenaline only rushes for a moment at the start of a cut. I soon figured out that knives and razor blades were lame. They'd lost their power. The slits were simple, like paper cuts. No longer painful, no longer relieving pain, confusion and anger. Cuts were simply cuts. They'd burn for a second like a paper cut. They'd simply set a twinge. Then nothing. A little itch. That's the only way to describe the feeling, an itch. You just have the urge to scratch it. I suppose maybe that would be natural endorphins kicking in, but still!

Trying new things is always good, isn't it? That's what every adult will tell a child at some point in their meaningless lives. So I discarded my bland blades and did just that. Tried something new. Basically everything was terrible and useless. Nothing did anything except make gorgeous scars. By the way, If you ever notice my fingers running over a cut, know that it's a natural comfort. I run my fingers over the beautiful scars, just to feel them and calm myself, relive that moment when it was made. But anyway, moving on. I eventually got desperate, needing to release the feeing built up inside me. I found a last resort safety pin. At first, I wasn't sure how it would cut. I already knew that the palms had more pores than anywhere else and that they were highly sensitive, so I ran the pin over my hand just hard enough to scratch red welts on my pink spotted hands. After a moment, I found a soft spot and scratched a little deeper. I ran over the spot four times, harder and deeper each time. My fingers twitched and I grinned. This was definitely great. Running over a cut more than once just to make it through the skin was the best way. There was enough pain to satisfy myself, it would scar and it was slower than a simple paper like cut.

Anyway, there isn't much of the story to my release. I simply found a newer way to cut. Better than the tiny jolt of electricity from a knife. The newer, better way to help lose my sorrows. The fiery pain of slow torturous, self injury that is just slow enough to work. Enough light to break my night and start a new day. Just enough to keep me going when I'm down. So, as I say good-bye, may I wish you happy dwellings, and luck to yourselves. Hopefully you will not be addicted to anything terrible enough to harm you. I myself know there are better ways to vent, but it's too late for me. I don't want to stop by now. To you yourselves, I suggest trying new things. Who knows, something amazing and thrilling might just come out of it. But eventually, know that that thrill will be gone, and you'll have to move on. So, with that, I wish you luck in your endeavors, and good day.

Come what may, but guide your own destiny.
-Ginny Weasley

-
Yeah, Remember, I'm going to add an epilogue for Percy.
Sorry that it sounds like ADD, for the last time.
Was written emo mood. Sorry if it sucks. But I don't really care. If you didn't like it, go read a different fic. :)

Hope you enjoyed.
No flames, it was your fault if you didn't read the warnings.
Yep. I'll try to end soon.
Review.
Read my other stories.
Good day.