DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE SUICIDAL PLEASE. I DON'T MEAN THE NOTES, I MEAN THE WHOLE THING. TURN AROUND AND MAKE YOURSELF SOME TEA OR HOT COCOA AND SNUGGLE BLANKETS AND JUST BE HAPPY, OKAY? BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT. HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGH GO BE HAPPY.
I was really suicidal when I wrote this, but I'm doing much better nowadays (sorta. I still do get that way, but absolutely not to the extent that I was when I wrote this). Fukase kind of represents myself, in the sense of how he chose to die. I had wanted to do the same, however getting the supplies would be... difficult. However the situations that he and I were in are completely different.
I'm kind of glad I couldn't do this, because I wouldn't be typing this right now otherwise. Please enjoy, and please be respectful as this piece is incredibly personal to me.
He was home alone, which was good enough for him. It meant he didn't have to be sneaky when he lit the fuse.
Bitter streaks laced his asymmetrical cheeks, with a smile spreading itself unevenly between each side. In the middle of the smile lay a long and red plastic tube, filled with powdered death and enough BBs to tear down a whole barn. A crooked wire matching his separated smile stuck out from the tube, and a quivering lit lighter was only centimetres away.
There was a flash of red and blue that alternated so quickly they seemed simultaneous. Sirens and whispers and mindless babble echoed through thin walls, reaching his ears and only resulting in laughter. There was banging on the doors, and men and women alike screaming for him to rethink his actions and get rid of his plastic bomb.
But of course, he would not.
The boy's red hair was sticking to his face, which was wet with sweat and tears. Laughter echoed through the paper home around him, and joined the chorus of yelling outside. The laughing was insane; shrill scream-crying melding itself to the psychotic tones.
The laughter died down, and all went silent. A man spoke up, "Satoshi Fukase, bomb threats are illegal! I trust you know this!"
Fukase removed the bomb from his mouth and laughed it off, responding, "but is it illegal if I blow up my own property?"
"Sir, we can and will come into your home and apprehend you! This is an act of terroris–"
"WRONG!" Fukase shouted, "it's a fucking suicide attempt!" The bitter emotion crash down his cheeks like waterfalls. "Get off my property, and nobody will die with me! It's that fucking simple!"
"Suicide is also illegal, and we will come in and stop you!"
Fukase let out a shrill laugh, and the quivering flame met the end of the wire. "If you want to die as well, then come and get me." He turned and walked away from the door, and as he turned a corner it was kicked down with a loud crash.
Fukase took his time, placing the bomb in his mouth once more as he headed towards the basement. There would more than likely be less collateral damage. Then again, these were his final moments. Nothing mattered to the man anymore; thirty long years, between birth and now, he faced dehumanization and rejection. Peers—both at school and at work—would often even send him death threats.
He honestly hoped that at least one of those officers was a peer, and that they died with him.
His feet his the basement stairs, one at a time. The makeshift fuse was getting closer and closer to ending, causing a shock of joy to run through him.
It's almost time.
"Satoshi Fukase, where are you!?"
Fukase did not respond. He waltzed over to a lonely couch in his basement, sitting in the middle of it and smiling to himself in the darkness.
It won't be much longer now.
"WHERE IS HE!?"
"Ma'am, you need to leave!"
"NO! He's my husband, I need to know he's okay!"
"We don't know where he is, please leave immediately! You're in terrible–"
"I DON'T CARE!"
Fukase could hear the cries of a woman; a woman he recognized all too well. Ayano Mayu. A woman who pitied him and married him out of such.
He could hear her screaming. Screaming his name. Screaming to know where his location was. Begging and sounding like she was crying.
All fake. All to make him feel better.
The fuse was at its end. There were only seconds before his death. Thuds filled the air of the mostly empty basement; the presence of only a couch and a small man allowed for an acoustic echo that was almost foreboding.
"FUKASE!"
It was Ayano Mayu. A strong woman married to a man she pitied.
"FUKASE, D–"
Just a tad bit late. In a flurry of shredding beads, flaming gunpowder, and splattering human matter the plastic bomb detonated. Plastic remnants flew like debris birds, and the explosion spread. The fire and detonators engulfed the basement and swallowed the stairway and entrance to the area. There was the sound of screaming; a ringing scream that collapsed as the house did, taking the lives of all those that survived the explosion with it.