brInk Of InsAnItY
"Another hero, another mindless crime
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore"
"The Show Must Go On" –Queen
All my life, I've been ridiculed and taken advantage of. I'm not sure if it's because of my strange hair color or because of my strange addiction to fire, but either way, people have found a reason to make fun of me. I live in a world where violence is literally the only way to live. If you can't manage to survive, then there's no reason for you to be around any longer.
About five months ago, I met a boy named Roxas. He had just moved into the neighborhood, right next door to me and my ill mother. My entire family was always on the mentally sick side, my mother however, was the worst that I've seen. Even my insanity wasn't as bad as she was. Anyway, Roxas had introduced himself to me that same day, smiling brightly and I could only wonder how on earth this kid could smile like that when he could get stabbed in the back at any moment.
We instantly became friends though. We stood by each other no matter what happened. If I was sick, he'd protect me. If he was sick, I'd heat up some soup. We were inseparable.
One day I wasn't there. One day I had gone off on my own to a local store. On the way back home, I called Roxas as a force of habit. I needed to make sure that he was okay. But he never answered his phone. Which was strange, considering we made a deal regarding our communication whenever we physically could not meet. The only thing that resounded in my ears was my feet hitting the pavement and the constant dull ringing that reached my ears as I kept the phone cradled close.
I opened his door, cursing under my breath when I found that it was unlocked, and began calling out his name. I threw my cell onto the couch along with my bag of groceries and made my way upstairs. His name continuously left the confines of my lips as I made it to the upstairs bathroom, stopping still as my brain began to comprehend what was going on.
I saw Roxas, his blond hair being dyed red by blood as a large gaping hole spewed the crimson liquid onto the floor. His eyes were pale and lifeless and his skin was almost translucent. I dropped down to my knees and pressed my hands against the wound with one hand while smoothing his hair back with my other. "Rox, hey, buddy, wake up! Please, come on, wake up!" when his eyes didn't open, I threw my head down in anger and pressed harder. "Roxas please, you're okay, I know you are. God—damn!" I glanced around the small tiled room and noticed his cell phone lying by the toilet. He obviously put up a fight. I grabbed it with my blood stained hand, the device slipping and getting coated in sticky red stuff. I dialed the emergency number. "Please, help, my friend got stabbed and I—he's dying, man, he's fucking dead probably, I need help!"
Four months ago, I met a boy named Roxas. He became my best friend in this hell I've come to know as reality. But then he was brutally murdered in the middle of the day. Ever since then, I've been watching his house from my window, as if I'd be able to catch the people that did it.
And then one day, I had somehow managed to go downstairs expecting guests while hiding a knife behind my back.
One of these men had the same bracelet Roxas always used to wear.
I've never really written anything this dark before. I hope it came out okay.
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ArAndAr?