Sabo was only 10 when he realised the harsh reality of the world.
There was no point to life, was there?
We're all going to just become food for worms.
And his parents, his parents wanted him to be the heir to their family. He was nothing more than a puppeteer for their delusions of grandeur.
A show-pony.
He had to do well in his exams at home otherwise he would accomplish nothing. If he didn't finish them then he was better off dead.
He felt like he was an oppressed bird, offending walls encircling him like a cage.
He wants to be free but he doesn't know how.
In his spare time he reads, reads fictional books, but more specifically looking for ones where the character can do whatever they want.
He doesn't find many books like that in his house so he extends the reach past into the library of High Town where old men sit around smoking pipes and reading newspapers.
He takes as many as he wants because, he has to know.
Then he finds the answer hidden within the folds of a bad romance paperback.
Suicide.
The word feels heavy on his tongue and he knows that it is not something to be taken lightly.
But, if you died then you wouldn't have to worry about any of it.
No taxes, no worrying about money, no caring of who sees you, no wondering about what tomorrow will bring. No school, no studying, no parents constantly pressing pulling for him to be like them.
He will be free.
Sabo's body thrums in anticipation, he is young, he knows that the world is a cruel, harsh place. And he wants no part of it.
The lady in the book wrote a note…
He tears a page from his draw and pulls out an ink pot and feather.
Carefully he dips the feather into the pot and begins to write.
Dear mother and father, (he couldn't break the gentlemen in him, even in the end)
I have decided to kill myself, it is not one that I take lightly, I understand the full weight of such an act and I apologise,
Neither of you ever loved me, you can admit it to a dead boy can't you? You only see me as a trophy, someone to keep your family going, right?
I confess that I only realised this recently. I wish I had known it before… so I didn't have to sit threw this miserable life.
Life is pointless, there is no meaning to it. Even if we accomplish things later on in life, it's not going to matter when we're dead. Nobody's going to care and even if they do, what's the use of it to a dead person?
If I do awfully in school, then what is there for me? I will either be shunned by the ones that did or cast out by all of society. I don't want that, so I'm ending my life NOW.
And why should I care about the system either? I know there are other islands out there with different ways of society, they sound so interesting, but I know that you would never allow me to travel around.
So, I have stated my reasons for death, goodbye, I hope you can make peace with my passing.
Sabo
He nods as he reads it over, his grammar and spelling is perfect so he blows gently on it and folds it up into a letter and addresses it to Outlook III.
Sabo finds his sharpener he'd been using when he draws and with as much force as his tiny body possesses, he throws it on the hard floor and stomps on it.
The plastic bends then snaps under the force and he is left with a screw and razor. "It has to be sharp."
Thankfully it is, he discovers as he runs his hand across the blade.
He double-checks the book before filling up his bathtub with boiling water, discarding his top layers he slides in, neatly placing the letter on top of his clothes.
It's hot, very hot, but that's the point. He slides in, making sure that both of his arms are submerged.
Soon enough his body is tingling and a numb feeling spreads along his body.
Sabo shivers despite the heat and is surprised to feel tears fall down his face, he raises a shaking hand to his cheek and angrily wipes the tears away. "Remember why you're doing this! You will never be free! Never!"
He brings his knees up to his chest, burying his sobs onto the top of his legs.
He remembers the times his father hit him for getting something wrong, or would silently glare at him in disappointment.
He remembers all the times his mother would force him to wear constricting clothing and apologise on his behalf for defending himself against untamed brats of other families.
He remembers seeing dogs hit for being 'gross' or for people arrested for dropping litter, either intentionally or unintentionally.
Sabo takes a deep breath and brings the razor up to his right wrist and slashes downwards.
It stings, more than he expected but that's okay, he quickly switches the razor to his ruined wrist and brings it down as well.
The red falls through water in quite a beautiful pattern, Sabo thinks, as he watches his wrists bleed into the steaming water.
Tears are still blurring his ever-darkening vision but that's okay.
Everything is fine, he'll finally be free, flying on wings like a bird.
Sabo knows that even if his parents do find him soon, they'll be too ashamed to bring him to a hospital, and he doubts any of the servants will try and save his life when they realise what he did.
He wonders idly whether they'll hold a funeral for him, he's only ever attended one and it was morbid and sad and both of his parents had looked like porcelain statues.
Now that he thinks about it, he doubts he'll have a funeral, no-one cared about him, after all.
Sabo knows he's almost there so he allows his weak body to slide under water.
The last thing he sees is the blood-filled water swallowing him whole.