Miracles
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you are about to take your own life.
You are not as stupid as many people probably think you are. In fact, you believe yourself to be rather smart. The only reason no one really sees it is because of that little mask you put on every day.
It's an old routine. You wake up mid to late afternoon after a late night, you get high with whatever methods are available to you, that goofy grin is plastered on your face like make up and is only washed away by early evening which is when you start drinking. By the time you've absorbed enough of the mind numbing liquid, you are near to passing out, if not already so. If you're still awake by midnight, you might have the munchies or feel the urge to do the drunken tango. It is nearly assured that, just before sunrise, you are locked in dead sleep.
Same old routine, all day every day.
Why? Well, there's a simple answer to that. With this routine, you don't have to really deal with all those skull aching motherfuckers out in the real world.
As said, you are not stupid, not at all. All those high class motherfuckers think they are all up and higher than you, better than you, superior. Then, all those low class think the same, it's nearly ridiculous. What makes it worse is that you can see how truly terrible they are. Hypocrites, bigots, racists, they're all terrible.
If you don't participate in your routine... you might just wrap your hands around some motherfucker's throat. Your routine makes it easier, smoother, you can deal with those people of the outside world who think so highly of themselves.
You don't like this routine, you don't like it one bit. It is an endless cycle of unhappiness and nothingness. Your routine keeps you calm and level-headed, but it doesn't make you unaware of how truly terrible the world is, how foul it is, how disgusting. It is far beyond repair and you hate it. No one listens to you when you try to explain, for they all see you as dirt beneath their feet.
You take long strides, as if you are eager for this to be over and done with. The wind is chilly on this day, the skies are dark with rain clouds, and the gusts of air are rather vicious. Your thick, mangled hair is ruffled all up in your face as you walk, but you keep your head high and ignore it. Well, your head is slightly bowed, but not all that much, just so that you don't have to look into the eyes of any of those disrespectful motherfuckers.
Cars go by without much notice, zooming by with ordinary sounds going unnoticed. You have the most neutral expression you've ever had in place. Your head is as clear as a spring morning, you know exactly what you are doing, and you feel as though you will be arriving at the end soon.
On a steady incline, you barely notice what you are doing, but it is there subconsciously. Your eyes are trained on the empty sidewalk in front of you as you keep walking. It's not as though you are having second thoughts, you just don't want to become too suspicious to any people passing by.
Once the incline seems to steady out, your eyes glance over to the side where a railing follows your every step. You're still not there, so you keep walking.
Your breathing is calm, your hands are in your pockets, and your expression is still blank. Yes, you really are going to do this.
You are there, and you stop. Turning fully, you gaze over the railing and down to the pool of darkness below. The waves are kind of choppy today as the winds are rather harsh. You blink a few times as you stare down at the dark water. Still, something stalls you, and you pause in your breath. A headache pinches at your skull and you grimace dreadfully. The wind isn't helping, certainly not, but you can't do much to solve that.
Without much thought, your arms are folded and you settle them on the railing as a makeshift pillow for your chin. Then, you stare out over the dark waters, lapping almost soundlessly under the sound of the roaming cars behind you.
When you're ready, you'll do the deed, but for now, you just need a short rest.
Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you are about to take your own life.
You never thought your life would come to this, the actual thought of suicide being the only answer to your problems. Sure, it's not what you expected, but you are willing to take your life into your own hands now.
Your routine is rather simple: Get up, survive, go to bed, repeat. One wouldn't think such a simple daily ritual would drain you so much, but it does. Let's get more elaborate. You wake up, you have to swallow seven pills in the morning, five at night, then you go to sleep. Only half of these pills work, and only every now and then do you feel them working.
Why this routine? Of course, the answer is rather simple: disease.
When you were younger, you were diagnosed with a rare bone disease that turns your muscle into bone. Pills was the only answer, but even those little capsules could do next to nothing to help you.
Day in and day out you suffer with aching pain. The muscles in your legs are nearly transformed fully into hard bone and walking is now a challenge, almost impossible. You want to give up so badly, no one knows how terrible this pain is, but your mother and your doctor won't let you just give up. You have physical therapy four times a week and a weekly appointment to see how you are doing.
The only thing you think is truly happening is helping the suffering linger.
You hate the pain, it should be your pain concern to get rid of it, but you admit to yourself that it's not. You have something else eating away at your head. If there's one thing you hate more than the pain, it's the pity.
Poor little crippled boy, using a wheelchair and cringing as he rolls around.
Oh, little cripple, do you need any help?
You hate all the pity you see. Every day, you are forced to look in the eyes of so many people with furrowed brows of sadness, empathy that you don't want. Ever since the day you were born, people were doing things for you, thinking you needed to be babied. You can take care of yourself, you assure yourself of this fact as much as you can, but all is in vain.
The pain spreads every day, crawling up to your thigh at this point, and it becomes more and more frightful for you. Your mother can't stand being in your presence. Instead, she helps you when you need her (and desperately, you want to add) and then scurries off to her room to cry. Due to this, you are alone on most days and suffering by yourself. You manage to keep yourself occupied, but you do admit that being alone saddens you.
If there's one way you want to go, you want to go without pain, and you assure yourself of the fact that you will certainly go that way.
Your dad was an old koot back when he was alive. He used to hunt, but he was never really good at that (you figured out quite a few years ago that all of the mounted 'prizes' on his wall are purely stuffed animals of the plush variety). He would often polish his most prized shotgun and show it to his buddies, speaking of the latest adventure he went on. This certain shotgun that he so truly treasures is in a glass case on his desk in his office.
Neither you nor your mother had stepped foot in his office since he died so everything is coated in a fine layer of dust. You slowly wheel in on your four-wheeled device, looking over old artifacts that he had once found intriguing. It makes you somewhat sad, somewhat, yet you don't find the strength to frown or cry.
Without hesitation, you make your way to your deceased father's desk and eye the shotgun withheld in the glass case. The case is covered in dust and you can barely see the gun through the foggy glass, but it is definitely there. Your father never felt the need to lock things, so nothing holds you back from opening the case and bringing the gun out.
Still, you feel like a devious little kid as you hold the weapon in your hands. You eye it with a still childlike curiosity, but you clearly know what to do with this item. Even so, for a very long time you reconsider what you are about to do. In fact, for a split second, your hand shakes, and you push the weapon slightly away from your form.
But then you remember exactly why you thought of doing this.
A shaky sigh is pulled from your lips as you grip the shotgun tightly and hold it close to your chest, as if assuring yourself that yes, you will be doing this. You will do this... just once you gain the courage to do so...
This day, a very rainy, gusty day, two people died. This day was an ordinary day, just like every other day. A body fell, a shot rang, two bodies remain motionless.
This day did not exist.
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you just ran into your estranged brother.
You were walking along the bridge, wind gusting and raining, and someone bumped into you. A sudden look, you were shocked to see that familiar face before you. Apparently, by some stroke of luck, your brother had been forced to move back home and was looking for a place to stay.
You tell him he can stay in your apartment.
You decide to wait until tomorrow to do the deed.
Your name is Tavros Nitram, and your mother decides to take you out to eat.
You were doubtful of her proposal, mostly considering she was not good at making people feel good, but she seem sincere. She spoke not of your illness and smiled. You smiled for the first time in years. You drive in the passenger's seat with her, smiling almost the whole time. You pass by the river, it looking so beautiful and clear.
You really want to go to the river someday.
You have one more thing to do before you do the deed.
Today was a bright and sunny day. The wind was calm, the water was a bright blue, and the birds were singing their gleeful songs with joy.
For the first time in a while, Tavros smiled.
Little sounds of pain bubbled from deep in his chest with every little step he took. His legs were stiff and aching with raw pain. Using crutches was not his favorite thing in the whole world, but he was feeling confident on this particular day, and he felt like he could handle it.
The bridge he is crossing is one he has crossed many times before by car. He always liked this bridge, and he still does, as it overlooks a wide and sweet river. He never got the chance, though, to just stop and look over the edge and at the water. So, he decided, today would be that day.
He leans his crutches against the railing as he settles himself to look over the crystal clear water. Today was gorgeous, uplifting, and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. His brown eyes nearly shimmer with glee.
He is glad he gets to see this last beauty.
It should have been done yesterday. Gamzee mumbles to himself, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and head bowed so he could only see the ground. A sharp glare is on his face, and he just can't seem to take it off, not that he was trying all that hard.
For the first time in a while, Gamzee cried.
He had never gone sober for more than one day before, not for a long time. It hurts like hell and those thoughts are ever present. Those plaguing thoughts of inadequacy, the ugliness, are all eating at him. At any moment he might just jump off without grace, without a glance to the water or a wave goodbye to some random driver.
With a tight jaw, he groans and suddenly hits the railing beside him. Slamming his head roughly onto the pole did not help his situation, but he did not care in the slightest. Gamzee's breaths are deep, raged, and desperate. He grits his teeth until his jaw hurts, clenches the pole tightly with his hands, and he soon realizes he has to calm himself.
Gamzee lifts his head, looking at the water, and tries to calm his breathing. Maybe it was the soothing sight before him, but his breath was soon drawn to a gentle panting. It was a long time that he stared over the water, a very long time, so much so that he barely noticed the coo of a hushed voice.
"It's, uh, really nice out today, huh?"
The distressed man lifted his head slightly, eyes drooped over slightly with exhaustion, and he turns to faintly gaze at a young looking fellow just a few feet away from him.
"Yeah... I guess it is all up and nice out..."
The other man seems to embrace the weather much more so, at least, considering the sweet smile on his face. He looks like a naturally happy person from this angle. Gamzee is jealous.
"Do you, uh, live nearby? I've never seen you around..."
Gamzee sighs quietly and stands a bit straight before expressing to the other, "Bro, I can't hear you all that well, come closer if you're really gonna speak to me..." He wasn't expecting the guy to really follow his advice, but he was proven wrong by movement in the corner of his eye. Reluctantly, Gamzee looks back at the young one and is taken off guard when the brunette leans back, grabs a pair of magical walking sticks, and uses them to help himself along.
The other makes his way so he is just next to the taller being, still smiling, and stalls in his place as he asks once more, "I haven't seen you around here... do you live close by or... something?"
For lack of a better word, Gamzee was still bewildered. But he does answer, "Yea... just a mile or so down there..." Saying this, he gives a lazy point back to where he came from.
His companion looks over in such a direction and nods before explaining himself, "I live a few blocks that way," and he pointed in the separate direction. Turning back to Gamzee, the other's grin widens and he finishes off, "My name is Tavros."
Gamzee pauses. The hesitation feels like a century, yet it only last a few seconds. Yet, when he feels the corners of his lips pull up, the words soon come out, "My name is Gamzee..."
The sun makes its gradual journey, yet none in the duo realize such. They smile as they speak of things, express gratitude and thoughts. It seems, as though, their smiles would never falter.
When the sky was tinted a vibrant orange, Gamzee finally realizes the time. "Oh shit, brother... the time all up and flew by before our eyes..."
Tavros looks at the sky and he comments, "Oh, yeah... I, uh, didn't even notice it was that late..."
Gamzee smiles with a light laugh, a laugh he hadn't heard himself utter in a long time. It is now that he notices the ache in his skull is nearly nonexistent. Looking at his new friend, his grin becomes wider and he asks, "Would you like me to all up and walk you home, Tav?"
Although flattered by the nickname, the brunette hesitates in answering. His first reaction is to be offended... the man is feeling pitiful of him and wants to help the poor cripple home. This is his first thought, but it soon fades away as he sees the genuine kindness in the other's eyes staring back at him. Tavros can't help but smile back at the other as he murmurs a rather shy, "Uhh, sure... I would, uh, like that."
Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you decided not to take your own life.
You made a new friend, a friend who doesn't pity you and treats you like a normal human being. You know this new friend will be there for you... he's different.
You lie down in bed with a smile, calling goodnight to your mom and telling her you love her. She smiles at this and says it back. In the gentle night, your eyes slowly close and absorb the calmness that swells in your heart.
For the first time in a long while, you can't wait for tomorrow to come.
Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you decided not to take your own life.
You made a new friend, a friend who isn't cruel, terrible, a beast, one that you admire truly. You know this new friend is truly a keeper... you can't lose him.
You cross the bridge to go back to your apartment. It is the middle of the night now, and barely any cars are out. Halfway over the bridge, you stop and gaze over the water. You smile as you recognize how beautiful it is, and then you keep walking.
For the first time in a long while, you feel you have experienced one of them miracles.