Warning: Character Death/Suicide! If you're uncomfortable with that, this isn't the story you're looking for.
Ok, so this is the second self-harm/suicide fic I've written. I am Not advocating that as a solution to one's problems with life. Seriously, if you're thinking of it please find someone to talk with and work through it.
In the initiate dorms all was quiet. The hallway lights were dimmed for the night and the inhabitants had all been asleep for some hours now in preparation for the coming day of classes. The Force's presence within was calm with the relaxed states of those who called it home. A soft light seeped out from under one door's edge though.
Beyond the door was a typical initiate's plain dorm room. A sparsely furnished and decorated room meant to hold one person and their meager belongings. A desk sat along one wall, currently cleared of all assignments. A small dresser occupied one of the far corners; the piece just large enough to hold a few sets of clothes and necessary personal care items. The side of the room held the door to the 'fresher that was shared with the 2nd dorm room connected to the far side of it. Beside the door in the corner of the room sat the provided bed with the room's lone occupant sitting upon it.
In the dim light something glinted in his hand as he repeatedly twirled it with a dexterity that spoke of significant practice. A sharp knife from the evening meal a few weeks ago was held carefully as it was examined. He'd already tested its edge. A small streak of blood was smeared on his palm from the cut he'd made an hour ago. He had decided his course.
He released the apprehension he was feeling into the Force and felt his mind calm. With his mind cleared and his hands steady he grasped the knife and smoothly drew it across his wrist. Blood welled up from the cut. The line was deep enough to sever veins but not the tendons therein. He shifted the blade to his other hand and gripped it tightly, the motion causing the cut on his palm to reopen and bleed. He drew it over the other wrist more deeply than he had the first. The blood flowed freely. **
He dropped the knife off to the side and watched the blood splash as it started to pool on the floor. Shakily he moved himself forward to slide off the bed to sit on the floor leaning against the bed's edge. He held nothing against those that had raised him here and the floor at least would be easier for them to clean once he was gone. He smiled wryly at the far wall as his vision darkened.
"Happy Birthday to me."
He had reached his thirteenth birthday yesterday. He hadn't been chosen by a Knight or Master. The Temple would no longer be his home. The Force would still welcome him though. After all there is no death, there is only the Force.
So... I know a bunch of fics in SW and JA use Life-day for birthdays. I didn't. It is what it is.
I considered saving this a little longer to post on my B-day for irony but I think that's probably considered 'a bit not good' and quite morbid so you get it now. Then again, last year's b-day is one reason I wrote it.
On a random note the '**' has to do with when I wrote this piece. I was with Shya K., J. Feathers and Jo. Feathers and Jo were at work that morning and Shya and I (mostly just me) were working on random story ideas (Nightmares was written just after on the same day, some time around February 2013 (and was originally Dream)). At the point in question we stopped to clean up a bit before Jay and Jo came back, dishes, general cleaning and stuff. I showed what I had down on paper so far... and got a terrible ribbing for the fact I let some random 13 year old bleed freely in the bedroom for a couple hours before putting him out of his misery. Yes, these are friends *facepalms*, who laugh and tease about blood flowing freely from my notebook while I was dealing with dirty dishes.