HI! I'm back with MORE angst! I'm also on a computer, hurray! Man, I missed typing...tw: Suicidal thoughts, attempt, and metaphors. Btw another chapter is imminent.
It was over.
The light was fading over the horizon, casting shadows over the trashed landscape. Stan wasn't sure if anyone actually bothered cleaning up after themselves in Glass Shard beach. He knew that it was technically a crime to litter, but no one ever seemed to notice how many broken bottles and crumbled papers rolled across the streets. Maybe he should try and clean it up himself. Maybe that would be better.
Stan sighed and let his body slump against the rail. The dull sunset was mirrored in the water and he stared at it, breathing in and out in a steady beat. The water was probably the cleanest, purest thing in all of Jersey. It glittered and lapped at the shore calmly, not a care in the world. If Stan had ever wished for a superpower, it would be power over the water. Water was just so...much. It was peaceful and calm. It was angry and dangerous. It was necessary for life, yet it took life just as easily as it supplied it. It didn't let politics or differences stop it from doing anything, or stop it from doing nothing. It did what it wanted too. It was uncontrollable.
It was beautiful.
Stan leaned further over the rail. What if he just...jumped? What if he let the water take control for once, rather than fight against it? Swimming was hard in these waters, but Stan was a superb swimmer. It helped he had learned to swim at this very dock. Half of the trick was knowing when to let the water guide you, and when to swim against the current. What if he just, didn't fight? That didn't sound right. Stan was good at fighting. It was the only thing he had ever understood. Fight, get up, fight some more, keep fighting until you win. That's how it was. He didn't have any other choice.
Right? Stan didn't blink as a light breeze ruffled through his hair. Fighting, that was hard. Stan had fought for all his life. Against his father, against his teachers, against his own thoughts. Stan had never lost, not once.
Yet here he was, standing at the edge of a dock. No one around, and no one to fight against. Because he hadn't won this one, had he? He'd lost. He'd lost his family, his life. His friend. What did fighting accomplish now? The possibility of a future? He had no home, no money, no support. His training wheels had been torn away before he'd learned to balance and now he had fallen over, scrapped knee and a concussion on top of it all.
Fighting hurt. It hurt when his nose broke in third grade. It hurt when the love of his short life tore away his heart. It hurt now.
It doesn't have to hurt anymore.
Stan finally blinked. It was true. All he had to do was...let go. Let the reigns fall from his hands. Then the pain would be gone. He could rest. He could stop fighting.
He could stop. No more cruel teachers. No more pretending. No more broken promises.
His eyes closed, and Stan made a decision.
He let go.