A/N: Something I wrote during my boring Motivational Camp. Please read and review, thank you in advance! Bullying is a serious problem and I hope the victims will be able to get help before they turn out like Miku in this story.
The room is dark, lit only by a small bedside lamp. It casts a weak, watery glow over the room's sole occupant, 16 year old Hatsune Miku, dressed in her school uniform and hunched on the bed in tears. Her clothes are crumpled and dirtied; she has once again been ridiculed for her turquoise hair, and various other silly reasons. An eerie glint comes from a silver-gray object in her hand, a blade of some sort, slightly stained a dark brownish-red. She presses the blade to her skin and drags it across her wrist, exhaling slowly as she does so. A blood red line wells up in its wake; scarlet crystals fall toward the sheets, bursting into brilliant clouds of color.
There is no strength left in her anymore. "No one will ever love you, Hatsune Miku!" "Hey, did your mom drink green dye before you were born?" "You look like you have a garden on your head!" "Why does she grow her ugly hair so long? She should just cut it off." "You're a freak, Hatsune!" All those words have sapped away at her, she has been fighting too hard too long. The voices in her head have not always agreed with them, but gradually came to. Those voices have started to join in months ago, putting her down and discouraging her, blaming her for every little wrong in her life; and they have won. Those cold eyes that always looked down on her and the foolishly shallow false friends that believe in her fake, painted smiles have won. Hatsune Miku is not strong enough to stand up to the assault.
"My feelings have been building up in this glass bottle…"
Another line is etched into her alabaster skin. Vibrant red colors the dull flesh, spilling over like tears. Washing away the anger, the confusion, the sorrow and hatred, it leaves nothing but emptiness behind. So this is how it feels to be empty, like all the songs she loved to listen to and sing. This is despair, agony, twisted loneliness.
"Overflowing at times…"
Jagged white and dark pinkish lines mark the rest of both her wrists, scars from older times. Her eyes trace them with a frightening fondness. To her, every single one has helped pull her together when times were unbearably bad. Though they are destroying her, Miku sees them as her saviors, her only means of escape from the icy words that cut through her as easily as a hot knife through butter. "Go to Hell, Hatsune!" "You're just a waste of space." "Poor Hatsune, she's so pathetic. Can't she see no one really likes her? Why is she still smiling and joking around?" "She's probably too retarded to understand." "Yeah, green is the new blonde." Can they not see that it hurts? No, her false mask of happy-go-lucky Hatsune Miku is too good; everyone is too foolish to see through it. They do not know that if she did not have that mask on, she would be quiet and broken, crying at the slightest provocation because she simply cannot take anymore.
"But staying solid at others…"
Another line is carved unto her wrist, crossing over an old one. Blood spills past the jagged edges of flesh, celebrating freedom by pouring down to the white bed sheets. Words and games may seem harmless at first, but the damage they do to one's self-esteem and emotional wellbeing is irreversible. "Don't pass the ball to Hatsune, or you'll be taking her side against us." "And we'll all hate you like we hate her." And so she stood like a statue in Physical Education classes, no one passed her the ball or offered her a game of badminton, no one wanted her on their teams, and she spent hockey being knocked around by her teammates and opponents' sticks. This led her to think she simply was not good enough for anyone to want to play with her, and she started sitting out of PE with various medical ailments.
"But now…"
Another line, deeper still, slanting a little to the left, is added. It crosses over an old line and one of the new ones, resulting in a refreshingly intense pain that wracks Miku's body. The jolt leaves her drained, numbing her down to the core. However, her emotions are much too strong tonight, returning with a terrifying ferocity. The blood seeps into the mattress, a permanent stain of a life completely destroyed by bullying; by the way humans tend to ostracize those who are different.
"The bottle is cracking…"
The next line veers more wildly, until it is nearly vertical. It slashes through all the previous wounds, but the pain is not enough to numb out 13 years' worth of pent up sorrows, disappointments, anger and agony. Miku's shoulders relax slightly as her body prepares itself for what it will soon do. It hurts so much less cutting than it does listening to Kamui Gakupo, Shion Kaito and Akita Neru stomp all over her self-esteem, goals and dreams. "I want to be a pop idol." (Her eyes were full of fear and shyness; she sought approval or encouragement for her dream. But what she received crushed her completely.) "What a stupid dream, Hatsune! You'll never make it!" "I bet you can't even sing!" "Your music will be garbage, Hatsune, no one will ever listen to it!" "They will, they'll use it for torture!" The class had laughed, but she did not find it funny at all. She smiled widely to assure the worried teacher that "it's just teasing" when she knew very well it was not. Her dreams were not something to be made fun of, everyone had different dreams. Just like her hair and eyes, she did not choose to be born with them, she simply was.
"And I am going to explode…"
The next line misses her vein by millimeters. Blood traces shaky paths down her arm, warm and sticky. Her hands start to shake, and an almost audible shattering sound is heard as the bottle cracks fully, emptying 13 years' worth of trapped emotions. It grips her body furiously, swirling around her like a tornado. All those words she had shoved to the back of her mind so she could continue smiling, all the words she swallowed down like a good dog, all the anger she bit back, it all consumes her small, trembling body.
"I can't take this anymore…"
This final line does not miss its mark. It perfectly opens up her vein at the base of her wrist, and she drags it down until it has slit open nearly half her arm. A sense of calm envelops her, her brain is foggy from the blood loss, and she knows what she has done to herself. She knows that when morning comes, golden rays illuminating her room from the large bay windows, she might not be able to raise her head to see it. Unsurprisingly, she is perfectly fine with that. She will not have to face her tormentors and their merciless icy words and painful shoves and jabs. She will no longer have to stand, helpless, as they tear her down and rip out her foundations that she struggled so long and hard to build. She will be free. A tired smile etches her tear-streaked features as her shaky vision registers the moon watching, seemingly worried, over her. The night sky has been a constant companion and loyal confidant for her, she has been pouring her pain into the seemingly eternal darkness for the endless river of the universe to wash it away. She is grateful that at least the sky had been there for her, listening quietly as she argued incessantly with herself and the words that replayed in her head.
"Goodbye…"
The blade slips from her grasp, clattering to the blood-spattered floor. Her bed sheets are stained scarlet, her long hair a wash of turquoise against the white cloth. Her breathing is uneven, rapidly getting shallower, and she falls back against the pillows. Blood spurts from her body to form meaningless patterns on the sheets, marking the end of a life lived barely halfway through. A life she has not asked for, a life she never wanted.
At last, she is able to decide something for herself. At last, she is free. Her tormentors will not be able to catch her where she is going, and even if they choose to regret and repent, Miku takes some joy in knowing it will be too late. My death is on your conscience, all of you who always tore me down. Carry the weight of my death on your backs the way you never would if I still lived. Regret, and live in it. Never do it again.