Hey guys, this is a Song Fic revolving around a song written by Atreyu called Slow Burn. Not brilliant, but it's a first attempt at a song fic. This contains adult themes, such as mainly depression and self-mutilation. Such is the nature of the song. Don't read this if you enjoy things that are more along the lines of 'Sun-shiny-happy-land.'
Critical reviews are much appreciated. I love learning new things, and improving techniques about things I already know.
Thanks in advance.
Bold - Interpret for yourself
'Single Quotation Marks' - Thoughts
"Double Quotations Marks" - Speech
Slow Burn
It begins with a dark glowing ember
Something black burning it's way out of me
Searing the flesh
Pain is the only thing I feel
Scars all I see.
May felt it gripping her, pulling her into its cruel embrace.
It turned her hollow, a shadow of her former self, empty inside, until the anguish and misery rose up within her. Her insides felt like they were on fire, the pain beginning to make itself apparent in her gut.
May gazed around, watching her room. Her stuffed toys sitting on the chest of drawers, the felt mangy and ripped, fluff emergin through their cracks. Her bean bag slouched over in the corner of the room, stained and desolate. The bed, unmade and covered in junk and trash. Light entered the room through a small window coated in a film of grime, causing the light to turn grey.
The room was plain, the room was depressed.
May could relate.
Oh no the fire's burning my insides again
What can I do to silence my desire tonight?
Flames consuming reason leaving only ashes left
You will catch me regretting my decision.
The gloomy light reflected off her arms. May looked over them. Scars shone against the darkness in the room. Small, clean incisions. Scattered along both her arms.
May felt the desperate need to find something sharp. A razor, a knife, anything would do. She needs a distraction. Anything that can remove this pain burning within her.
May got up and crossed the room, reaching the chest of drawers covered by her disgusting soft toys. She slid the bottom drawer from its slide and reached into the hollow space.
Her fingers clenched around a small, metal object. She brought it out and began her handiwork.
She bled, and the pain inside began to wane, quelled by the throbbing of her arms.
May began to cry.
I can't keep telling myself what I want to hear (What I want to hear)
I can't just close my eyes
"I can stop it," she muttered between sobs, "I can make it stop."
"Can't I?"
I know that it's killing me
And it's poisoning the best in me
What I see I don't want to believe
So let me tell you more
Tell you more
About the lies I lead.
Rational thought finally returned to May. The sobbing didn't stop. Memories of her old self were too painful to remember.
Just because she'd been happy in them.
She was never happy anymore. The depression, it's a poison. It's destroying her good side. The joy, the laughter, the love.
It was eating her away.
"There's nothing wrong with me," was the new line between sobs. She repeated it endlessly, changing it that little bit each time.
"I tell my friends there's nothing wrong with me."
"My parents haven't told me there's something wrong with me."
The sobbing didn't stop.
That is how I chose to douse the flames in gasoline
Broken teeth replace the blackout memories in my head
Wreckage from the blast, it haunts me
Shakes me to the bone (To the bone)
I know it's over but I can't go home tonight
Each time May hit a low, the process repeated itself. Each time, she needed a distraction, to take her away from the pain she felt. Each time, she turned to the self mutilation she subjected herself to. But this just made things worse.
The memories of her episodes haunted May, following her, destroying any self-confidence she had left. Gradually they were replacing her recollections of happier times, with Dawn, with Max, with her parents... with Ash.
The time that had left the deepest mark was the first time, and the destruction it wreaked upon May's life. That memory was the worst, the most painful, and the most easily recalled. It stuck with her, never releasing those initial seeds of doubt that led to this level of depression.
And the only place she felt comfortable was her room, the blood dripping onto the carpet from her arm. Even the trip out into the hallway created a powerful sense of paranoia in her, and she instantly was outside of her comfort zone.
May felt like she couldn't reach out, not even to just outside of her room, to what was her home, with her family.
But after this I feel as empty as the night before
Feel the pain and yet I'm still begging for more
Masochistic, nihilistic, urging backward thought
My life's a mess and I can't find a way to fix it.
May knew exactly how this worked. Soon, whether it be tomorrow, or in a week, she'd be back on this same spot, razor in hand, the blood dripping to the ground again.
She was frightened, but she knew that there was nothing she could do about it. That's how she felt. The depression held on too tight, and she couldn't shake it. No matter how much it frightened her, she was drawn to it, like a moth to light.
She felt addicted to the pain, like it was a high, like a high ecstasy. It took her away from her troubles, she felt full of life, even while it drained away.
Then May would crash. She'd return to her senses. The pain would engulf her, and she'd regret it instantly. But she always knew that she wouldn't be able to stop herself going back. She couldn't change by herself.
I can't keep telling myself what I want to hear
I can't just close my eyes
(Close my eyes, close my eyes)
(My eyes, my eyes, my fucking eyes).
She used to tell herself she could change, she could stop the mutilation.
But she knows that's a lie. May knows she can't stop it. And she wouldn't reach out, so no-one could help her.
And she knew where she'd eventually end up if it continued.
So she lied to herself. She said that everything would be all right. It would go away over time by itself.
Calling
Calling out
The darkest reaches of my soul are riddled with self-doubt
Crawling
Crawling out
My will to fight will more than suffice
When others would down.
May opened her mouth, and tried to call out. She'd cut too deep, and she realised too late. Her voice was scratchy and weak, and soft, much to soft to be heard from outside her room. Only now did she realise exactly how much she loved living.
May thought as positively as she could, vying for optimism for a change.
'Maybe it's not as bad as it seems,' That's a lie. Depression was leaking up from inside her.
'Someone will know something is wrong,' Stop lying to yourself, May. There it was again.
'I can make it though this by myself,' You don't have the will power. All you can do is lie to yourself, time and time again.
For once, she knew the voice was right.
She knew she was going to die. She had to do something, but it was out of her power.
She heard a voice coming up from downstairs. It was male, and she knew who it belonged to the moment she heard it.
There was still a chance.
Inexplicably, she felt strength returning to her, as if the sound of the voice empowered her movements.
Footsteps coming up the stairs.
They were coming to her room.
She found the strength to prop herself up against the bed and rest her arms on her legs, keeping the incisions facing upwards.
The doorknob moved. It shook.
It was then she realised the door was locked.
Mortified, she tried to move closer to the door, to reach the lock, but it was all she could do to hold herself up.
Drawing on her last reserves of saliva to wet her mouth and throat, and the last reserves of strength to force her mouth to move.
"Help, me, Ash!" May's hoarse voice croaked. The doorknob stopped shaking. And suddenly a fist was pounding on the door.
May collapsed to the ground, barely holding onto consciousness. There was shouting. Someone calling for help. Something hit the door powerfully, and the hinges moaned in protest.
It hit again.
And again.
And the door broke away from the frame and fell to the floor inches from May.
Arms gripped her tightly and a warm voice, a pained voice, resonated inches from her ears.
"It's all right May, I'm here for you now."
The black engulfed her world.
It's only as dark as you make it
There you have it. Slow Burn.
Hope you enjoyed it, and hope it wasn't too weird for your tastes.
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Sorry about it being entirely in Italics. The Document Editor wouldn't work properly. It kept on turning the lower half of the story into Italics no matter what I did, so I just put the entire story in Italics. Sorry if it was annoying. Used the Screen Strikes to separate lyrics from story.