Spongebob. Not the way he always was. He has changed. He has black, spiked hair. He has many piercings now. The happy childhood he once had has changed now that he is older. He is now dark and dangerous. All of the abuse from everyone caused him to become emo. He has started to cut himself. It fixed the hurt. It fixed it all. But he wasn't the only one who changed.
Patrick. Patrick was gothic. He had changed a lot. First, he got an education and was now one of the smartest people in their town. Second, he moved out of his rock and into a real house. Last, he became gothic. All he did was sit in his black room. He had a black Mohawk. He wore black eyeliner . He wore all black clothes and silver chains. The only person he would talk to was Spongebob.
The two were normally quiet. The never said much. When they did it was about Xbox, cutting, food, or people. They still hung out together a lot. They would sit in their rooms while they lisened to music. Now and then they would go walk through town. People lived in fear of the two.
The people were scared of them because of how they had changed. They went from the two dumbest people in all of town to the two smartest. They went from two of the most out-going people to the two most quiet, anti-social people in town. People were just scared.
Spongebob was mad one day. He slit his wrists. He felt so good. Then, Patrick went to Spongebob's house because he was scared something had happened to him. Patrick was right. He went up to Spongebob's room. His room was painted black. The blanket on his bed was black with skulls. The diving bored above his bad was red. It didn't seem right to Patrick. He slowly climbed the ladder. He was scared of what he would see. He already knew what would be there.
When he gets to the top he look shocked. Spongebob lay there. Motionless. He was no longer breathing. Patrick knew what was wrong. He saw the slit wrists, he saw the blood all over everything. He looked down, tears streaming down his face. "Why? Why? Why?" Patrick kept yelling. He went and called 911.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"It's my friend. He commited suicide. I need help here as soon as possible."
"How did he do this sir?"
"He slit his wrists and throat"
"Okay sir. We will have help there soon as possible."
"Okay, thank you ma'am."
Patrick went on for months. Alone. Without a friend. He couldn't take it. He had cried every night for 4 months. He decided enough was enough. He went to his dresser drawer and got his gun. He held the barrel to his head. He pulled the trigger.
The lives of the people in the town were forever changed. They would never be the same.