A/N: I'm only back to writing, but only temporarily :P
This Cracktastic fic is just..a plot bunny turned awful.
Warnings:..Oneshot, child-abuse, suicidal-themes, briefly metioned slash, etc, etc.
Yes, oneshot is a warning. (ie: There's no happy ending. It's a little bit dark..not unlike Batman...?)
Disclaimer: Forgive me, Bill :]
J.D. clenched his cobalt eyes shut, once again blocking out the rational part of his mind. He had long ago stopped listening.
He was crouched next to the smooth porcelain toilet, the condensation causing goosebumps to erupt over his stinging flesh.
He was cold. His legs were protesting fiercely, cramped and beginning their descent into numbness.
He was exhausted, frustrated, eyes burning, stomach churning, but most of all: he was finally ready.
The 5-blade Gillette titanium razorblade glinted maliciously under the ministrations of the pale, fluorescent lighbulb. Blindly poised above his ulnar artery, he simply pressed the razor firmly into the fleshy juncture of his wrist and palm.
Dragging it upwards, with the accurate precision of a medical doctor. Scarlet blood bloomed forth from the deep laceration.
"Remember kids: it's down the road, not across the street." He singsonged hazily, the words slipping past his bluish purple lips, aready in the beginning stages of cyanosis.
Had he seen them, he would have instantly been reminded of the wild violets he used to notice on his treks home with Dan from grade-school.
He had loved those violets.
Their bright, vibrant purple made him feel less self-conscious about the bruises.
If something so delicate and beautiful could wear the same color as his decorated abdomen, then he could too. Dan would always scold him for falling behind.
But they had been so pretty.. Oh so pretty.
He'd made a mental note once to give some to his step-father for a present. The flowers had never made it past a day. But they lived on through the fist shaped discoloration on his lower thigh.
Sometimes they were more yellow than purple though. Like sunflowers.
Giggling from the blood loss, J.D. let his hand drop.
Finally, FINALLY, he could get some sleep.
His pale, white limbs sung in graditude as he stretched out on the floor like a cat.
"Just a little catnap." He thought giddily, resting his head in a crimson pool of blood.
Perry wouldn't be happy that he got the bathmat dirty. They had bought it together at a flee market the next town over. Perry hadn't wanted to go initially, but he really couldn't argue with J.D.'s persuasive tongue.
"I really should have moved it." J.D. thought guiltily.
He should have done a lot of things. Like told his life-partner that he had idiopathic Interstitial Lung Disease. Or that he wanted to be buried with his scarf collection. Or even that he was just plain sorry. Insert the "or..." of your choice.
J.D. curled up languidly, throwing a pasty, bloodless arm over his eyes, splattering the pristine ivory walls.
"Oops." He murmured.
He'd get that first thing in the morning. He'd scrub the walls..clean. Until they were..that..that brilliant white again. Then.. he'd crawl back..into bed with Perry. And stay there..snuggled up with him...forever. He was just..too..-too tired right now. He just needed a little.. a little cat..nap. Everything would all be...better..in...the m-
A/N: It was very short, no?
(For those who don't know; idiopathic Interstitial Lung Disease is a group of disorders affecting the alveolar (air sac) walls with inflammation (pneumonia) resulting in scar tissue deposition (fibrosis). Idopathic means no known cause. Don't I sound smart. XD)
Reviews are welcomed, but certainly not mandatory. Though I'd like to know if I've improved or not..?
Feel free to make me cry, Grammar-Nazis. This was, as always, unbetaed.
Thanks for reading! :]