Roxas wanted to die. That was all he thought about. It plagued his mind every day. He waited. Waited for that moment someone would kill him, or he'd get into in accident. Day after day, night after night, he desired death more than anything. He watched every person, hoping they were some sort of killer. He scrutinized every vehicle, large and small. If one would just hit him would be great. But no, it would never happen. People were either too kind hearted to do him a favor and put him out of his misery, or too stupid to end his life. No matter what, he wouldn't just die like he wanted.

He got tired of waiting. His one wish was to die, and no one would do it for him. He decided to do it himself. Though, every time he tried it was a complete failure. If he stood in front of something, it would stop or someone would pull him out of the way. Then he'd have to make up some bullshit excuse for why he didn't move. His parents hid most drugs on him, so trying to overdose on them wasn't going to happen any time soon. So, out of options, he chose to do things the old fashioned way.

Cutting.

He loved the way it felt. The sharp, silver steel of a razor blade against his pale skin was enchanting, mesmerizing really. He'd watch as the crimson liquid dripped from the fresh open wound on his wrist, to down his arm, leaving a beautiful red trail of blood. He felt some sort of happiness from all this. He felt alive. At first, he just wanted to kill himself. But the thrill of cutting prevented him from wanting to die quickly. He never cut too deep, but deep enough to get enjoyment from it. He did it for three years, and as far as he knew no one had a clue of his actions.

As long as he could cut, and get the delight sensation of it, he'd have a reason to live.

"What do you mean I have to study harder?" Roxas shouted. The spikey haired blonde was with his parents in their kitchen. He had just walked in the door and set his backpack in his room when his mother called him into the room to discuss a phone call from the high school. "Your math teacher called. Apparently your test score this week was lower than usual" she said. Roxas grinded his teeth together in anger. "It was one fucking test! It's no big deal!" he exclaimed. "Hey!" his father shouted, enough to make Roxas jump. "Don't take that tone with us! We told you what will happen if your grades drop!"

Roxas clenched his fists to the point his knuckles were turning white. "Fuck you!" he yelled. "At least I didn't drop out like you two!" Before he knew it he was punched in the face and knocked on the floor. He looked up at his father looming over him, a disappointed look in his eyes. His mother had a look that was a crossed between that, and upset. He used a chair by the table to get up, not looking either of his parents in the eyes. Without another word he took off to his room, slamming the door behind him. He leaned back against the wooden door and let out a breath.

He couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. He wanted to die, to just drop dead right there. He rushed to his bathroom, throwing the door open and knocking everything behind the door into the bathtub behind it. He went over to his medicine cabinet. He could see a bruise already forming where his father hit him. Ignoring the black and blue mark he took out an orange medicine bottle he had behind various items. He filled the cup he used to brush his teeth with with water. He'd need it. He undid the cap to the medicine container and tossed it who-knows-where.

He took in his mouth as many of the small white pills in the container as he could, and used the water to swallow them. He did this several times before the bottle was empty. They were heavy duty sleeping pills he swiped from his ex-girlfriend one day. Suddenly a thought passed his mind. What if his parents came in and took him to the hospital before he died. He took out his razor blade from his pocket. Looking over it it was perfectly clean and sharp. A quick, deep cut would be enough. He took off one of his wristbands, which hid all the scars he had, and held the blade over his wrist. He began to feel dizzy, his head getting heavier. He shook himself out of his daze and proceeded to drag the sharp razor over his skin. Blood flowed out of the wound, dripping onto his arm, then the sink. He felt weak and dropped his razor, letting it clatter onto the floor.

Unable to hold himself up he lowered himself onto the bathroom floor, watching the blood flow out of his wrist and stain the white tiles below him. He felt warmth as the blood poured out of the wound. It was like a blanket for him. His eyes got lower, no longer trying to stay awake. His vision was getting darker each second. In the distance from his mind he heard footsteps. He heard in-auditable yelling and quiet sobs before he blacked out.

He finally did it. No matter what he'd die.

Or so he thought. That was before getting a tube getting shoved down his throat. His mind was foggy, but he could hear yelling and shouting from people he's sure he never met. There was also the sound of machinery running. After what seemed like forever the large tube was taken out of his windpipe. He coughed severely, trying to get rid of the burning sensation caught in him. Then a jolt of pain hit him, hard. It seemed like too much. He slipped into unconsciousness.

When he woke up everything was more quiet. Only a voice or two could be heard in the room. He focused, trying to listen to them.

"-swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills. It was from another patient. It's all out of his system now."

"I can't believe he'd do this…"

"What got into that boy?"

It was his parents and probably a doctor. Too bad he didn't die. Well as the saying goes, "If at first you don't succeed, try again." He could just try to commit suicide again. He'll just have to make sure no one is there to save him.

His vision cleared. He glanced around to find himself in a hospital room. It had various tools and machines, so it was probably an emergency room. There was only one nurse inside. She was busy cleaning something. Roxas could care less at the moment. He felt weak, and still a bit drowsy. Lifting his arm he discovered it was put it a tightly wrapped bandage. He saw his parents outside the room, talking with a red-headed man. Without anything else to look at he glanced at the clock. Four thirty-two. It was dark out. Did he sleep until four in the morning? His mind drifted off into other things.

He saw a tool table next to him. All he had to do was use one of those to re-open the wound in his wrist and make it deeper. Or he could cut his throat open. He managed to sit up, slowly. He gripped a scalpel from the tool tray and observed it. He dragged it across his neck. The nursed looked over at him when she heard him grunt in pain. She began screaming for help. Roxas jumped when the door swung open and two male nurses came in. They grabbed his wrists, causing him to kick and squirm, trying to break free or their grip.

"Let go of me! Leave me alone!" he yelled, thrashing about on the bed. The red headed man, obviously a doctor, came in. He grabbed a syringe from one of the counters. "Hold him still for a second" he said. One of the nurses held Roxas' arm down, enough so Roxas couldn't move. The needle was stuck in his arm and he winced at the prick of it. Within seconds he passed out. For the third time he went back to sleep.

This came into my mind randomly. I'm not sure how good it is. Oh well, it's practice. Please tell me what you think.