A/N: It was a rather on a whim that I wrote this one. Who knew it sounded a tad bit too familiar to what I was reading in English class. I apologize in advance for any confusion it may cause. Review please and thank you.
Welcome to the End
He looked at his wrist in quiet contemplation, there was no one around save for the shadows that danced on his wall from the candle light. Oh, how he wished for some company, for solace on this cold winter night.
Yet the boy's luck has never been good, his luck, his trust in anyone, never have been good. The only person, whose faith was entirely within him, was out. Busy, within his own affairs not sure when he would re-surface in the said room.
T'was a lonely night, dark, did the snow fall quietly. In his mind it was a blizzard that prevented his one hope to come home.
His eye fell on a blade, the blade he had been saving for that very purpose. There was no point; there was no achievement, aside from the pain and sting. He took the knife with shivering fingers and laid it softly upon blank skin. Skin with darker grooves upon it, carving various closed valleys. These were scars from past offenses.
To cut a river into the stone, to carve another valley upon the white stone. Over and over did God throw the water smoothly down until nature worked its magic.
Slowly did the blood bubble, crimson beads leaping forward. He had lost his strength to become God. No longer could he make deep crevices, only time did ever heal the scars which slowly did fade. More beads appeared as he cut more furiously, he wanted it to hurt. He wanted to bleed; to bleed his sadness away.
Furiously was not the true sense of the word, be it rather more swift but 'furiously' was which he desired yet could not bring himself to commit. Rather there was a sense of fear that grasped his heart every time he carried out his deed.
Before no such fear existed, his solace did know the truth but did nothing about it. Why? Simply because he wouldn't let him. It was his choice to continue, to calm himself with such methods.
There was the rush, and he continued to carve his art. It felt so addicting to harm himself in such a fashion; he never understood why it was so enjoyable. He thought of a bird's clipped wings, what would it feel like to have to hide it? To not show the scars he took pride in? To limit one's self of the very pleasures that give them reason to be?
Reason to be? One of his reasons for doing so was to end it all, simply to end it all. However endings never came as easily as beginnings did, he had no foreclosure. He had all the reason in the world to die, he had all the reason in the world to hate, but there was a forbidding voice that grasped his heart.
His love for that person, his God, his own darkness he had not yet seen.
Thus the blood did run dry, like the many rivers that leave its swamps upon the land. He sighed; he had enough; enough of pain; enough of life.
Today is tomorrow and tomorrow is the today, the time that death is most certain and most foretold a perfect time.
A swift wave of his hand, his thoughts amuck, he didn't want to think anymore.
Once more God created another river, in time the river created a valley, and the valley… bleed for all its worth till there was nothing left. Till there was nothing left of him.
A/N: Sorry this was a tad bit confusing, I hope that if anyone can understand Shakespeare that this isn't rocket science. If I made any spelling/grammar mistakes please let me know. Thank you!