Dear Diary,
Why did I live? Why was I saved? My earliest memories are of the war, living very briefly with my older brothers and then growing up with my Mama- Prowl and Jazz. I must refer to them by their official names in any form of writing.
Prowl saved me that day in the gardens, and my life has been nothing but good. He never says anything, but I know he thinks I am ungrateful. Jazz blames me for taking the spotlight in the relationship between him and Prowl... that they didn't have children of their own during their prime of life and now they can't. I never meant to take that spot in their lives.
...
Bluestreak pauses in his writing, shifting in his position on the floor. Crammed up against his berth and the wall, his doorwings were beginning to ache but he was safe. Safe from the voices, safe from the images and people that haunted his mind.
"Why did you live, Bluestreak...?"
Bluestreak freezes, dropping his doorwings down low. The voice returns in a hushed whisper against his ear.
"Why, Bluestreak..."
Bluestreak begins to cry softly, curling in tighter. A monitor on his nightstand crackles softly. "Bluestreak? Blue? Is everything alright?"
Flinching, Bluestreak curls himself in even tighter, and some of his armor creaks.
"It's alright, Blue, everything is going to be okay... someone is coming to help you."
"Help," Bluestreak whispers, the harsh whispering voice over his shoulder laughing darkly.
"Oh Bluestreak..."
Bluestreak's door opens and in comes Heartstart, doorwings in a neutral, friendly position. He kneels beside Bluestreak, putting a hand on the younger mech's shoulder. Bluestreak jerks and turns to look up at him, then floods into Heartstart's arms, crying. Heartstart gathers him up holding Bluestreak close. "I've got you... I'll keep you safe..."
Bluestreak cries hard, crushing his body against Heartstart. Heartstart settles down on the floor to hold Bluestreak close.
...
Bluestreak creeps out of his room, down to the mess hall. He grabs a cube of energon, and hides in a corner booth, drinking the cube swiftly. His eyes dart back and forth across the room, staring at Mecha as they walk in.
"-yeah, he's no use-"
"Wonder when he'll go away-"
"Should just offline."
Bluestreak shrinks down in the booth, voices from around the room closing in on him. Finally, he leaps up and races out, back to his quarters.
...
Dear Diary,
It's the fourth week now. The voices haven't stopped coming, they even come in my sleep. They tell me so many times... to die...
I don't know if I want to die. If I die... the voices might go away. Why do I live?
I can't
...
Bluestreak drops his pen, his hands shaking, and he stares down at his wrists.
"Die, die, die..."
"You should have died vorns ago..."
"Die, Bluestreak."
His eyes overflow with tears as he stands, dropping the little diary book onto the floor. He steps on it as he turns to his nightstand, opening the drawer. He pulls out a knife, looking down at it. He chokes and cries harder, slipping it into his subspace. he opens the door to his quarters, stepping out and running down the hall. He rushes past Heartstart on his way, and the medic watches him run. "...Bluestreak? Blue! It's okay!"
Bluestreak doesn't listen, running on down to a separate washroom. Shutting the door, he locks it and leans against the sink, staring into the mirror. Choking, he pulls the knife out and presses it against his arm.