This isn't one of those cliched stories where a person falls into a deep depression and someone comes to save him.
This is a different story. No one comes to save him. his Knight in Shining Armor never comes and he is left in the dark.
Alone. Scared. falling deeper and deeper. Desperate for someone, anyone to come pull him out.
Crying, screaming, cutting, bleeding. Trying to get up but he just cant. He cant do this alone yet he has no one. He's tried and he just fell harder than before.
He has no family. No lover. No friends. He has to constantly remind himself that he's just human. If he bleeds too much he'll die.
Dying sound extremely tempting to him but he cant bring himself to do it. He hopes and prays for someone, anyone to come save him like they do in the movies and the thousands of books he's read. He just falls deeper.
He stares at his wall now. Voice hollow and eyes empty. His arms are scarred from his wrist to the top of his shoulders. His thighs are mutilated, he cant even reconize his own skin. Its all too much.
He is sitting on his bed, staring at the same wall hes been staring at since a week ago. He has a gun in his hand. Knives are too dull and pills he never picked up.
Reality takes hold of him and he looks around. Apartment trashed and ugly. A reflection of himself. He looks down at a lap that holds a gun. His lap.
Guns loaded and starts moving towards a head. his head. He feels the warm metal as it is being pressed against his temple. The warmness comes as a strange comfort. He knows he'll be free soon.
Faintly he thinks back when all of this started. He was a new child in 5th grade. Sad he had to move yet excited and anxious to make new friends. Friends. A term for people who like to backstab. He tried so desperately to have someone, anyone. fifth graders are brutal.
He remembers the hate festering in middle school. Not knowing what it was. still so innocent. He had a friend she said "some pain feels good." He never knew what that meant until later.
He remembers the first time he did it. Young, tired and broken. He sat on his bed like he is now. spotted a pair if large red scissors. Red. how fitting. He took hold of the scissors opened them up. Heart pounding, scared and filled with curiosity.
The first time he's done it it was painfully blissful. He felt powerful and free. Wasnt deep. A scratch that squeezed out droplets of beatiful red. Bad emotions. Worthlessness and fear leaving with the red. He was in awe. he made a another a little bit harder a little bit faster.
He realized what he's done and drops the scissors on the floor and starts crying. Never stopped. Days, Months now years.
High School. Not as painful as 5th grade but still painful. Friends were made fast and he made a pact with one of them. She never believed in herself. Never realized how amazing and strong she was. Pact was broken. She fell into an eternal sleep never to wake up. He wanted to die. He couldnt do it.
People he cared about distanced themselves. It's all his fault. He couldnt save her. She drove away the bad emotions now that she's gone they're coming fear, loss of appetite, and the bleeding starts up again. He thinks why couldnt he save her? She didnt diserve that.
He cries every night unable to sleep. Nightmares of his faliures plague him. He holds her as she dies in his dreams. In his arms as he desperately holds onto her wanting her to wake up to chase away the bad things.
His trembling hands drop the weapon and brings himself back from his revere. Guilt hits him hard as he thinks of his friend. He picks up the gun. Trembling stopped.
He knows what to do. He can finally fulfill the pact they made.
He cocks the gun. heart beating calmly. A hint of a smile on his face.
He stares at the wall. puts the lethal metal to his temple for the second time that night.
He has no one anyway. What's the point?
His head hurts where the gun is pressed against his skin.
He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out
He's about to do it but stops. He wants to feel himself dying. Slowly drifting away from the world.
He puts the loaded gun above his heart. That's where it hurts the most.
He takes another deep breath. Gun moving with his chest. Up and Down.
His thumb is on the trigger. He pulls it and a loud bang bounces off the walls.
This time he's looking at the ceiling. He can feel the bullet lodged in his heart. He can feel the familiar sensation of blood leaving his body.
He lays there. Bleeding. Breathing. No tears. No screaming. Just Relief.
He sees black spots appear on the ceiling. He hears sirens in the distance. Cops.
He tastes blood in his mouth. He must've hit a lung it's hard to breath.
He can feel a tingling sensation throughout his body.
He feels tired. He wants to sleep.
The pain is singing a lullaby. He's compelled to listen to it.
There are more black spots and he closes his eyes. He takes another deep breath and it hurts.
He hears a door knock. "Police! Open up!" HIs heart rate is slowing. He cant seem to give any fucks.
"This is the police, if you don't open this door we will be forced to break it down."
He's fading away as he hears something hit the door. All he can think is too late.
The door bangs open. His breathing stops. His heart stops.
Before He dies he thinks he's glad he didnt have anyone.