Why wouldn't anyone believe him?
No one. Not one single person.
They think hes crazy. Mad. Disturbed.
Why couldn't someone, anyone, just believe him.
Henry thought this time would be different. He was so desperate. desperate enough to be believed in by even the person that probably despises him the most... his birth mother...
Emma.
She did abandon him after all.
Thats what it all leads down to really. He doesnt really care about the curse not really. Hes just trying to fabricate some excuse that makes up for his own mother not wanting him some logical explanation for giving him up.
But he truly thought the curse was real. That magic was real. All of it.
But they were right. This isnt a fairytale, there are no happy endings.
Hes truly going crazy so wrapped up in his own stories. Henry doesnt know what to believe anymore. Whats real and whats not.
He truly thought the curse was real, but now hes not so sure.
Why couldnt someone believe him.
Because he doesnt even believe in himself.
He was just so alone.
So so alone.
Magic isnt real. It cant be he was being ridiculous.
He really was just the troubled little boy everyone said he was.
The little freak.
Hes actually going crazy. Wait... no.
He was always crazy.
Henry just couldnt take it much longer. Couldnt stand each minute sitting there knowing everything hes ever thought or believed to be a lie. Knowing that nobody cared enough to listen to him...To just believe.
He cant be here anymore and suffer. Tormented by the other kids. Ridiculed by the parents.
Henry was crazy to think that anyone actually cared about him in the first place, not even his own birth mom wanted him for fucks sake.
No one cares.
No one would miss him.
And those thoughts that plagued his head would finally go away. At the cost of his life.
Henry rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Not even having bothered to change into pajamas... there was no point. He folded the sleeves all the way up to his elbows to reveal only more pain, more suffering.
Scars littered his arms.
Not a single piece of skin had escaped the wrath of his blade. They ranged in sizes big small...deep.
Pretty little things.
They expressed his inner pain. except his emotions were worse. This helped him feel numb. Some of the scars were faded but many were still fresh, angry red lines scattered across both of his arms. He winced as he brushed his hand across some of the fresh scabs. The delicate skin breaking again as the familiar sight of blood began to spot once more. As it would no more. Because this was the last time... the very last time.
To this day he can still remember the first ever cut he made. That his mother made... all those years ago. He begged her not to leave and had to watch in despair as she abandoned him for a second time.
It hurt so bad.
It hurt so fucking bad... it still hurts. Its never stopped. His frustration was uncontainable and he lashed out, only 10 years old. In hysterics, throwing everything in sight before smashing his hand right through his mirror. It was painful, but it blocked out his emotional pain and for him it was pure bliss. How twisted could a little boy be to think and feel that way. He had grabbed a large shard and dug right deep into his arm.
A work of art.
Henry had sighed in relief as he pushed the glass deeper into the cut and watched as the blood pooled below him.
Henry smiled fondly at the memory whilst he traced the scar it left. The pain doesnt give him that same release anymore. Its an addiction, he needed it more and more to satisfy his cravings. Just to be numb. But its too hard now. Hes too broken
And no one cared by the way.
Its been five years and not a single person found out what henrys been doing. Not that they would care if they did.
Because no one cares. And no one believes and noone ever will.
Who would care about henry?
The loner. The crazy kid. That disturbed child. The fucking FREAK.
Henry knew he was a burden to everyone he knew everyone that he cared about that didnt care at all for him. He was a burden to even himself.
So why should he bother people any longer. Hes wasting their time and space.
He should go now. He should just go. It would be so much easier for everyone.
Henry turned to his bedside drawer and reached for the familiar feel of the kitchen knife he stole years ago.
Without hesitation or thought he brought the knife to his wrist and began to slice through his veins painfully slow making sure to cut through all the scars hed made before. He didn't stop there either. He continued to slice and cut over and over as he shredded his skin to pieces and watched as the blood gushed out in awe unaccustomed to anything more than a trickle.
It just poured out.
Henry felt himself getting weaker by the second.
"Goodbye"
he said, to no one in particular then laid down in his bed smiling as the darkness washed over him and his room faded to black.
He was finally free.
He looked so restful, so peaceful, so at ease and if it weren't for the blood that was quickly and quietly soaking through his bedsheets you could have mistaken the boy for an ordinary sleeping teenager. They wouldn't even think of the pain he was feeling.
He was free now though. Finally free from the place that once upon a time he had called home.
He was finally free from the curse...
The curse of depression.
A/N: Revised one-shot from my old account. If you're in any kind of pain for whatever fucking reason dont read this kind of crap. Go get some help. [But be sure to rate and review first ;)]