His tears may have well been the blood that dripped from his wrists. They both were flowing so freely and quickly. If they both combined into one substance, perhaps it would save him the energy.
I mean, two fluids coming from different openings in his body? Why couldn't they be together. The blood could drip from his eyes instead of just water. That way he could cry and bleed at the same time.
It would save him the trouble, really.
Who had the time to clean their face so it looked like he hadn't cried, and clean the blood off of their wrists? What was he? Made of time?
Though, his time was running out.
But for this time, he was going to watch the blood that flowed from his wrists.
He didn't have to worry about his brothers finding out. His battle bandages covered the cuts.
They wouldn't even care, he'd bet you.
If tears were blood, he'd be dead by now due to how many times he's had to cry himself to sleep.
He looked to a painting he had been painting. He didn't do much painting anymore.
He didn't really see the point.
He had run out of red paint while painting Raph's mask.
No biggie.
None at all.
He just had to cut again.
Raph's mask was painted from his blood.
So what?
If anything, it resembles something kind of.
The first time he had cut was because of a fight he had had with the hotheaded turtle. He had felt so sad then.
But now…
…now he was numb.
He could cut as much as he wanted, and it wouldn't hurt the tiniest bit. Or at least it didn't now. At first, it had hurt a lot. But…in a good way. So good that he continued.
As the months passed he found it easier and way less painful than the first time he had sliced the knife through his fragile flesh.
He wrote poems to explain his pain.
He expressed his pain through his paintings.
Through music.
He began to relate to music way more than before.
He watched as the necessary-for-life liquid dripped into a puddle that had collected on the floor.
He wanted to watch as all of the red liquid that his damaged heart pumped throughout his body escaped through a slit in his skin.
He was excited for that day.
The day he found the strength to let it all go.
Tears as blood would be so much easier, he thought as the liquidated life left his wrists.
Both of them.
Someday, he thinks, all of this blood will be spilt all over the floor. Sure, I'll feel bad that I gave my family a mess to clean up, especially a mess that I created, but they'll be relieved of me.
He sighed.
It all started because of a few words that Raph had said.
Words that never should have been said.
Mikey laughed that young childish laugh that became so desolated over the course of a few months.
This was the best prank ever.
He was sure of it.
Raph had been so stressed lately, maybe this would help cheer him up.
As soon as Raph entered the dojo, Mikey unleashed. Water balloons filled with pink paint were flung at the unsuspecting, stressed, red-clad turtle. As each made contact with his skin, each exploded, releasing their messy content on the victim.
Mikey was the only other one home.
Plus, Leo, Donnie, Splinter, April, and Casey wouldn't be dumb enough to pull a prank like this.
Especially on Raph.
Raph growled as he whirled around, looking for his baby brother. "Mikey!" He had roared.
Mikey's face fell when he noticed the normal enraged look that had entered Raph's emerald green eyes. This was supposed to make him happy, Mikey thought.
Raph marched to his orange-clad brother, fists clenched into unimaginable anger. His eyes held a look of absolute hatred. His scowl could tear a T-Rex without sinking a single tooth into it's tough reptilian flesh.
Mikey backed away slowly, shaking hard in fear when he felt his shell hit the opposite wall.
Why hadn't he run for the door?
Mikey slid his head partially into his shell, but his eyes still peeked out, caked with fear. He expected him to hit him.
He would have rather had the beating.
"You're such an idiot, Michelangelo! Do you think this funny?! Because it's not, you idiot! Your attitude is so obsolete for our age! You're nothing but a liability and a burden to our family! I wish I had a different brother who wasn't like you! In fact, I wish you would die, Michelangelo! Just do us all a favor and die! We hate you! Especially me!"
Mikey's eyes were wide. Tears hadn't yet made their new home in his baby blue eyes. He was too stunned to cry.
He cried later.
And since no one else was home, Raphael hadn't been forced to apologize.
And he didn't.
He didn't give the one-sided conversation of insults a second thought after he had conversed it to the youngest member of the family.
But the words stuck.
And they stuck deep.
Too deep.
Bloody tears, Mikey smiled once more. It wasn't his signature smile, though. Oh, no. This was a sinister smile. It was the only smile he dared to crack. I wish that's the way our blood worked.
If it did, he'd see it much more than he already did.
And he saw blood every night.
It was the only thing that made him feel anything. But it killed him inside.
Did he care?
No.
Why should he?
He shouldn't.
And he didn't.
He was a disappointment to Master Splinter.
He saw it each time he entered the dojo for training.
Each time.
He growled as he looked at the knife in his hand. His eyes turned to anger as his mouth twitched into a scowl.
He began to carve.
Words.
Ugly words.
Terrible words.
Untrue words.
But as far as he was concerned, they were true.
Ugly.
Useless.
Burden.
Stupid.
Worthless.
Die.
The words shined with oncoming blood. And what did Mikey do?
He smiled.
It didn't hurt. It didn't burn. It felt…good. You could see the irritated muscle in the inside of the cuts. He had cut deep. And he was proud. Cutting was something he could actually do right. It was the only thing he could do right.
Well, as far as he was concerned.
He heard a knock at his door.
He jumped and dropped the knife.
It clattered to the floor with a loud clang.
It had obviously alarmed the person on the other side of the door.
"Mikey," The gruff, thick, New Yorker accented turtle asked, "you ok in there?"
Mikey's eyes darted around quickly.
Bloodied tears.
"F-Fine!" Mikey stuttered quickly, his eyes darting for the knife that he had dropped. He couldn't see it. For a second, Michelangelo could have sworn that his water tears had been replaced with blood, the ground going in and out of focus in red blurs instead of clear ones.
"Can I come in?"
"No!" Mikey was quick to answer.
He didn't bother trying to say anything else.
What else was there to say?
Raph was worried, and that was obvious. "Mike, I'm coming in."
"No! Wait, Raph, don't!" Mikey tried to yell, but to no avail.
Raph entered. He stood there. His eyes wandered the crime scene that took place on Mikey's arms. It took him a moment to process the scene, but Mikey beat him to the finish line of speaking.
"Get out!"
He knew Raph would do no such thing at this point, however. He stood there, shock written on his face. Well, shock and pain. Raph lunged for the knife Mikey had been so desperately searching for, and took it in his hand for his own.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" Raph yelled in fear and anger. Mainly fear…
"What I'm supposed to be!" Mikey yelled back, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Give the bloodied thing back!"
"No way in shell!" Raph yelled back. The knife wasn't a knife normally used to eat with like a steak knife. No. This was a large chopping knife. A knife that could have easily chopped Mikey's arm off if he had so chosen.
"What the shell, Mikey?!" Raph yelled looking at the blood that dripped from the massive knife.
"Give it back, Raphael!" Mikey yelled, his scowl back on his face, the fear now replaced with anger.
"Mikey," Raph huffed, his breath heavy and hot, "what…the…shell…were…you…doing?!"
Mikey growled, tears still forming in his eyes.
Bloodied tears.
"What you told me to!" Mikey yelled curtly.
Raph was baffled for a second. "When have I ever told you to mutilate yourself?!"
"You didn't say that specifically," Mikey said in a dangerously low voice. "You told me to die."
"When have I ever-" Raph stopped. Oh… "Mikey, I didn't mean it! I was just-"
"Angry?" Mikey asked with a bitter smile lit on his face. "Yeah, what an excuse."
"Mikey," Raph tried, nearing his brother slowly, "you're sick. Let us help you. We can help."
Mikey scoffed. "Why should I let you try to help something you created?! Isn't this," Mikey yelled as he motioned to the carved words in his arms, "what you wanted?! Me to die?!"
"I never wanted this, Michelangelo! It was all out of anger!" Raph yelled.
Mikey closed his eyes and crossed his still bleeding arms. "Want it or not, you created it. And this is what you got. Be careful what you wish for, Raphael, because you might just get it."
Raph clenched his teeth together as well as his eyes. His fists clenched, his right one gripping the handle of the knife he had confiscated from his baby brother. "This isn't you, Michelangelo," He growled underneath his breath. "This just ain't you."
He looked into Mikey's tearful blue eyes. "Mikey," He said slowly and carefully, "I want to help you. Can I do that?"
Mikey shook his head. "No, Raph," He said quietly, "you can't."
"Why can't I?" Raph asked. "What's stopping us both?"
"I'm in too deep." Mikey says as he shakes his head.
Raph cracks a sad smile. "You're never in too deep, Mikey," He says soothingly. "We all can help. Don't you want to get out of the long maze you're walking alone?"
Mikey's eyes widened slowly. Could he? Was there an end to this hell? Could he really get out? "I don't want to be afraid." Mikey said emotionlessly.
Raph smiled sadly as he placed the knife in his belt. "If you let us help you, you won't have to be."
Mikey looked at Raph, tears falling from his eyes. Not that they had stopped. "Really?" Mikey asked with a small piece of hope. Hope he hadn't realized had been there.
Raph nodded. "Really."
Mikey feels the tears build up more and more. He can't take it. He falls to his knees on the floor, the tears practically exploding out of his eyes. He felt a pair of arms wrap around his sobbing frame.
"I'm sorry!"
"Don't be. Nothing was your fault."
As Mikey was being held by Raph he began to think about his previous thoughts. Maybe tears being replaced with blood wouldn't be such a good thing. I would have died much faster that way than the blade I had taken to my own skin. I think I'll stick with my salty, water, tears instead of blood.
Did you like it, love it, hate it? Let me know. Your opinion matters. :)