Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, its characters, or any of that jazz. If I did, I'd probably be filthy rich and Canadian. However, I am neither. But I do own this really cool hat.
"Lets bloom the flowers of attempted suicide."
from The Final by Dir en Grey
He stumbled through the doorway of his room, completely distraught and in anguish. The muscles in his face pulled to the center, and he began breathing heavily, panting even. He tried to catch his breath as it escaped his pained lungs, leaving him to gasp and groan. Tears muddled his fair complexion, and he shoved his glasses from his face, flying them to the bed next to him. The boy's sleeve served as a tissue, allowing him to wipe away his tears and snot from his face. More tears came soon after, and he tumbled onto the bed, hugging himself and screaming into his pillow, again and again.
"Why did I do this?"
His screams did not soften against the cushion of cotton, as it merely muffled each twisted shriek of mental agony. He scratched his arms angrily with his nails, trying to draw something from them that was other than dead skin. He failed, leaving only red streaks upon himself. He got up from his bed and looked at himself in the mirror that hung peacefully on his wall. A monster stared back at him. He saw the same monster that was within him, when he shouted and hurt people. It stared back at him, and his reflection laughed maniacally. He began crying again and toppled back onto his blankets. Every saline droplet that rolled down his cheekbone held more and more pain for him to embody. Everything he had ever said, he wanted it to return to his lips. He wanted his life back. Yet, no. He couldn't have it back.
The boy rummaged beneath his bed. He remembered when he'd first begun to get angry at small things, he had hid this under his bed in case he needed to discipline himself. Unfortunately, any form of discipline he had dished to his arms, had no effect on his actions. Now look where the one girl had ended up. And by his hand, no less! He couldn't take that sort of guilt. He couldn't take that sort of torture. Anything was better than what he felt burning in his chest. This boy knew well what that feeling was. It was the feeling of his heart, shattered. He couldn't stand himself.
He pulled a pocket knife from the dark abyss that lay under his mattress. He looked at it, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled. The morbid smile he gave was returned to him through the faint reflection in the steel blade. This was it. It is a good day to die, he thought to himself. This piece, like the mirror, cackled at him in a malicious manner, mocking his hesitation and hurt. Rick became very angry, very suddenly, and he gripped the knife well in his right hand. Closing his eyes, anticipating the blow to his wrist, he took in a sharp breath and held it, mumbling to himself...
"Down the road, not accross the street..."
As the tooth of the knife's barely touched the surface of his skin, his fingers weakened the flat side of it suddenly reflected the toe of the boy's shoe, and he fell to his knees. Inquiring again, his first question when he tripped into his room, in a flurry of bitter madness, to the unforgiving silence. And as he did, the angels above him looked down, and shook their heads in pity
"Death is a gift not given by oneself"
quoted by Anonymous
Author's notes: one shot fic. If you didn't figure it out by now, the subject is Rick. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but all flames will be used to toast marshmallows. :D