A/N: My first serious upload. Just a story I had laying around. Kinda depressing, so if you like rainbows and puff-balls I'd say this isn't the story for you. If there are any mistakes, my bad. I tried to weed out all the typos but I might of missed one. Oh-and my grammar can be 'meh' sometimes (cough-alot of the time), so you've been warned.
He sat in silence, blue eyes vacant.
It was raining outside the cracked window he was looking through. The raindrops were thick, the loud plunking of them falling onto the shabby roof similar to that of a roaring chorus of applause.
The applause like noise filled his ears almost like a sort of mocking, but he didn't hear it. All he heard were his own thoughts.
Oh and how he truly hated their voice.
Their incessant whispers were like a cemetery of restless ghosts, wailing to finish what they left unfinished on earth, pestering him night and day for things he couldn't ever hope to accomplish.
Unfinished.
He's had time to get used to the idea of being unfinished. He even looked forward to it, for at least then he would be something. Something more than a dead soul withering away in a sagging husk of flesh and bone.
No longer would he waste his days sitting in the same chair, looking with the same dull eyes out of the same cracked window, where the same rain always poured. Finishing an unfinished life would be a long awaited adventure, an adventure that he was ready for.
Of course there were certain preparations that needed to be done before his little adventure, and he had made sure that all of that was taken care of.
The cell-phone plan had been canceled; something that he wondered why he hadn't got done earlier. No one has contacted him in over a year, after all.
He emptied out the rest of the money accumulated in his savings, a quite dismal and depressing amount.
He had found a trustworthy home for his bestfriend Marbles, a cat, who had adopted him and was brought into his home several months prior. And by far out of all things, this was the hardest one for him to do. He could still remember with a pain in his heart the clueless and innocent look his feline friend gave him when he had handed him off to a kindly woman in her late sixties.
The last thing he did was write a letter to his mother, sending it to the address that was written on the envelope of the last letter he had gotten from her a good two years back.
The letter was what you would expect from any other suicide note. He told her it wasn't her fault. That he just wasn't happy in this world, and that enclosed should be the rest of his money that he wanted to go to her.
The letter was a joke to him. What he really had wanted to say to her was more along the lines of him telling her off for never being there for him. For bringing home drunken assholes day in and day out all throughout his childhood, and never contacting him after he moved out unless she needed money.
But he couldn't bring himself to say all that. He never really was one to be able to put into words how he truly felt. Maybe that is why he was where he is now, because he could never tell anyone what was going on inside.
None of that matters anymore though. It was far too late for second guessing now. He's far too gone to ever consider going back. No, he would do this.
He stood up from the chair he always sat in and gave it a long look. Propped next to the window, it was old and rickety. He had got it for three dollars at a yard sale years ago. He never really liked it; he just bought it because he needed at least one crappy chair to go with his crappy table.
Looking at it now though, he couldn't help but feel some sort of attachment to it. It hadn't ever broke after all, no matter how many times he had falling asleep in it after watching the rain fall for hours. He relied on it, and it didn't let him down, and for that he was as grateful as one could be towards an inanimate object.
After taking one last look at the bleak weather outside, which is something he would always hate no matter what, he slowly made his way to the small kitchen included in his apartment.
It was cramped and barren, only a few odds and ends littered around. He had never really been a cook.
Rummaging in a drawer, he pulled out a faded pad of paper and a short eraser-less pencil. Better make no mistakes.
He quickly scribbled out a note to the manager, saying to donate all his belongings to the good will and in a spout of rare humor, that he would not be able to pay the rent this month.
Finding the note satisfactory, he ripped the single piece of paper off the pad and placed it onto the loudly humming fridge with a magnet.
With that done there was nothing else left for him to do. No more preparations, no more sitting in silence, no more waiting.
He stood frozen in place, staring at the note pinned to the fridge, the note that he had just written with his own hand, a hand that would soon never move again.
A familiar fear settled in his gut, a fear that has come over him time and time again. It was the fear that had stopped him from doing this many times before.
Not today.
"Dude, what is even in this box, rocks?!"
A disgruntled blonde with an unusual hair cut complained as he slowly climbed the last few steps to the fourth floor with a large box in hand.
A tall redheaded man followed closely behind him, two more boxes balanced in his own hands.
He rolled his eyes at his companion and moved past the blonde, who was shaking from the effort of carrying the box, he replied.
"As a matter of fact there is. What else would I use to decorate my indoor fountain?"
The blonde groaned as the man chuckled and set down his boxes and unlocked then opened the door of apartment number fourteen.
"You're the weirdest person I know besides me. And that's saying something!" The blonde exclaimed as he quickly moved into the apartment and heaved the box down with a deep sigh.
Walking in and setting the other two boxes down also, the redheaded man took a glimpse around at all the other random boxes scattered throughout the room and gave a quick nod.
"I think that it's Dem, thanks a bunch."
The blonde, or so called Dem, smiled and stretched out abit.
"No problem Axel, ya know I'm always here for you man." Kneeling over to grab a box near him, Axel nodded.
"Yea, I'm just going to start getting things unpacked."
"Alright well then I'll start heading out, call me if you need anything!" Demyx said, moving towards the door.
"Alright!" He grunted back as he heard the resonating click of the door shutting echo throughout his new place.
Currently, he was trying to open the box he had just reached for. But like most boxes you pack things in, it was well-taped shut with strong, plastic tape, making it near impossible for Axel to open it with his hands, which of course was exactly what he was trying to do.
After trying and failing for a few more minutes, Axel sighed and looked around realizing that he needed scissors, and the only scissors he had were packed away…in a taped box.
"Well shit." Axel sighed as he stood up to his full height.
Placing a hand on a thin hip and thinking for a minute, he glanced around at the room and then turned towards his door.
Maybe his new neighbor had some scissors he could borrow.
He was in the bathroom, blue eyes nervous. He was slowly filling up the bath with hot water, the steam rising into the room and making it humid and muggy.
He watched the mirror start to cloud over, seeing the sullen reflection of his pale face staring back at him. His once lively, golden hair was a mess, reduced to dull spikes sticking up in every direction.
It was so depressing.
It was one thing to know how bad you felt inside, but to see it all reflected in a mirror back at you was something different altogether.
Shaking his head and looking away from his face, a face that soon would be blank with death, he turned off the water and started slowly ridding himself of his dirty, unchanged clothes.
Once completely bare and feeling even more small and alone, he moved to step into the searing hot water and hissed as his skin burned and turned red in protest.
He gave himself a minute to become used to the high temperature, closing his eyes and feeling like he was being suffocated from the heat.
Then, opening his eyes back up and turning to look at the edge of the tub, he picked a small, shiny razor.
It glinted in the artificial bathroom light, and made his gut wrench again. It was so small, yet the power of what it could do, what it will do, settled over him and gave him a deep shudder.
Raising one of his wrists, he placed the cold metal onto his skin, creating a contrast to the hot air and water that surrounded him. Chills raced up his back.
This was it. He was finally about to end what was going to always be an unfulfilled and unfinished life.
Knocking.
He jumped. Why was he hearing knocking?
Brows furrowed, he looked away from the blade and his unmarred skin and stared at the closed bathroom door.
He usually never got any visitors, and if he did it was most often than not the manager coming to yell at him about being late on rent.
Calming down abit, he looked away from the door and sunk further into the tub. It was probably just the manager. No one else would ever knock on his door.
Looking back to the razor still sitting against his skin, he sighed and blocked out any more noises. No more distractions.
And with a quick breathe in he didn't hesitate any longer and pushed down roughly and dragged the thin blade against the soft underbelly of his wrist.
Instantly bright, red, warm blood started dripping in thick rivulets down his arm and into the hot tub water, dying it a light pink.
Panting and wide-eyed at the display, he forced himself to remain under control. This was what he wanted.
He shifted the razor to the now bleeding hand and moved to place it over his other arm.
Axel was standing patiently with his hands in his pockets in front of the door to apartment thirteen, rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet.
He shifted his eyes and studied the floor mat placed haphazardly in front of the door and smirked at the snarky comment stamped across it saying "Welcome to Hell."
Nice.
Looking back at the door with still no answer, he sighed. He could have sworn someone was home, for earlier when he and Demyx were bringing up boxes he had heard some noise coming from within.
Bringing his hands out of his pockets he knocked again, waited a few more moments, and then decided to test the knob out of curiosity.
When it turned easily Axel raised his eyebrows and stopped. He didn't really intend on entering, but a flash of those commercials with the old women who've fallen and couldn't get up popped into his brain and he decided to gently open the door.
"Uh…hello? Anyone home?"
Dull blue eyes slowly opened. Was that…a voice?
That was impossible, who would be in his house?
A half concerned thought popped into his slow moving brain suggesting it might be an intruder, which seemed plausible enough and he wondered if they were currently making away with all his crap.
Well didn't they pick the wrong house to rob? He laughed, but only in his head. His face remained blank, and his eyes had a glazed over look.
He had lost a lot of blood and was feeling weak. The once pinkish water was now red, and the blood flow from both his wrists had slowed, along with his heart.
The thump, thump of the organ grew fainter in his ears. And he wondered if it was really his heart slowly becoming quieter, or if he was just slowly slipping away.
He faintly heard the sound of footsteps growing closer to the bathroom and tried to grip onto the remaining remnants of consciousness he had. For whatever reason, he was curious as to who was there. Curious as to who was going to find him like this.
A hesitant knock was heard along with the same voice from before, sounding muffled in his ears. It sounded like it was asking a question, but he couldn't tell.
The doorknob began to turn and slowly the bathroom door creaked open. The last thing his blue eyes could see was a blob of red that resembled the color of the blood that had leaked from his wrists.
He heard a startled gasp.
"O-oh my fucking go-."
That was the last thing he heard before his vision went black and all sounds were shut off, and as he drifted off into unconsciousness, the last thoughts that filtered through his brain were of gentle acceptance.
So this was how he was going leave life.
Unfinished.
A/N Deux: It ends there for a reason, sorry if it pisses people off. And thanks for reading! It seriously means alot! If you'd like you can leave a review to yell at me or tell me how I did 'kay? :)