Warning: This story deals with triggers such as alcohol, depression, and suicide. Please read at your own discretion.
My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend.
Alfred stared down below him, swinging his legs in the dead air, his heels hitting against the building and reminding him of where he is. He looks now at the empty bottles next to him. Alcohol had dulled his senses in the worst of times, like right now.
I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.
All he wanted was for this pain to end. He was tired of it. He wanted to be gone.
My legs are dangling off the edge. A stomach full of pills didn't work again.
Everything he had ever attempted never worked. He kicked his legs and sighed. Why was it so hard?
I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.
Maybe if this didn't work, he'd try shooting himself. His step-dad had a few guns. And it wasn't like he had never shot one. He did have a hunting permit. Not like he would need that anymore.
Gone too far and yeah, I'm gone again. It's gone on too long, tell you how it ends.
This life wasn't worth living anymore. He was done with trying, with trying to stay alive and seem happy. Here, it was going to end.
I'm sitting on the edge with my two best friends. One's a bottle of pills, one's a bottle of gin.
The pills never worked. He picked up the last half-full bottle from the pile and chugged it. He considered this his last meal with his friends.
I'm 20 stories up, yeah, I'm up at the top. I'll polish off this bottle, now it's pushing me off. Asphalt to me has never looked so soft.
He swayed on the edge, the alcohol settling in his body and creating that blissful numbness. He looked down once more, not feeling much fear, and wondered why the ground looked like a bed of pillows.
I bet my mamma found my letter, now she's calling the cops. I gotta take this opportunity before I miss it, 'cause now I hear the sirens and they're off in the distance.
His mom was probably worrying for his well-being. But going out this way, he would be better off than ever before. He heard the police sirens and wondered if they were for him. But he wasn't important enough to be looked for.
Believe me when I tell you that I've been persistent, 'Cause I'm more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is.
Once more, he swayed and he gripped the edge of the building, hesitating. Would this pain really end it all? Would it feel better than the pain he induced on himself every night?
I've been trying too long, with too dull of a knife. But tonight I made sure that I sharpened it twice.
He knew that knives grew dull over time. And sometimes he just couldn't get it deep enough. If this failed, maybe the surgeon would stab him during his heroic life-saving operation.
I never bought a suit before in my life, but when you go to meet God, you know you wanna look nice.
He figured that the suit he was forced to wear at funerals, he would wear at his own. He shook his head. How ironic.
So if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.
There was a small chance he would survive the fall. After all, his luck so far hadn't been good. He would be labeled a crazy for sure, after this. He didn't want to face tomorrow.
My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend. I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.
That's right. Here he was. Waiting. But for what exactly? Some kind of miracle?
My legs are dangling off the edge. A stomach full of pills didn't work again. I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.
He shook his head and stood up, right on the edge. If he was going out, it would be right now.
We hit the sky, there goes the light. No more sun, why's it always night? When you can't sleep, well, you can't dream. When you can't dream, well, what's life mean?
Alfred looked ahead at the setting sun that held no color for him. Everything was bleak and dark. There was no saving light.
We feel a little pity, but don't empathize. The old are getting older, watch a young man die. A Mother and a Son and someone you know, smile at each other and realize you don't, you don't know what happened to that kid you raised.
Where was the happy boy he used to be? He felt like a stranger in his own family, his own body. How did things turn out this way?
What happened to the Father, who swore he'd stay? I didn't know 'cause you didn't say. Now Mamma feels guilt, yeah, Mamma feels pain.
He didn't know a thing about his dad. And now, his dad would never know a thing about him. He was dead to his dad, so he should be dead to everyone else, too. Even his mom, who had always tried her best.
When you were young, you never thought you'd die. Found that you could but too scared to try. You looked in the mirror and you said goodbye. Climb to the roof to see if you could fly.
He let a single tear fall and took a deep breath. No more thinking. No more pain. No more Alfred.
So if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.
No, he wasn't going to survive. He didn't want to see tomorrow. He took a step off the ledge.
My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend. I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone. My legs are dangling off the edge. A stomach full of pills didn't work again. I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone.
He almost expected his life to flash before his eyes, but instead all he saw was the rushing ground. He suddenly felt scared, his survival instincts telling him to fear death instead of embrace it.
I wish that I could fly, way up in the sky, like a bird so high. Oh I might just try.
In a last moment of regret, he wished he hadn't jumped. He wished he could fly. He wished...
I wish that I could fly, way up in the sky, like a bird so high. Oh I might just try.
Alfred's body hit the pavement. He died on impact. Just as he had always wanted.
Oh I might just try.
Hello everyone, I'm back with this! This is not meant to make fun of suicide, but to express the very true reality teens go through everyday. The song this fic is based on is Bullet by Hollywood Undead.
I do not own these lyrics or Hetalia. I only own the story in between.