A/N: here we are at chapter seven. It may be the last….I'm not sure. Maybe I'll go to eight. Whatever. Just because the hits have dropped drastically and hardly anybody reviews with each chappie so obviously you guys don't like it…but that's okay. I know it sucks. Feel free to flame.
Oh, and I'd like to dedicate this chappie to A Silenced Angel for writing such awesome reviews. Thanks!
Randomness of the day: these shoes are 300 dollars. These shoes are 300 dollars. These shoes are 300 fucking dollars. Let's get them! (dang I love that video…although muffins is awesome too. BLOOD MUFFIN! HAHAHA!) right. Okay. I'll shut up now
Disclaimer: suicide (notice how I'm not telling you whether it's attempted or if it succeeded) blood, erm…lalalala!! WOOHOOO!! HYPPPPERRRRRRR…..ahem. never mind.
Iggy's POV
I heard a sharp scream of pain emanating from Max's second floor bedroom, but it stopped suddenly as if she had silenced herself.
"Max…" I whispered worriedly to myself. I started to make my way as quickly as I could without tripping over anything towards the stairs to the second floor. Now I could hear faint sobs, and I knew something was going on.
I pulled myself up with the help of the banister, thinking…hoping…that everything was going to be fine, that Max would just be sitting on the window sill, singing quietly to herself or something that the old Max used too.
Finally I got to the hallway, and I ran as fast as I could to Max's bedroom door. To tell the truth, I was afraid to see what was inside it.
Max's POV
Hot tears fell down my face like nuclear bombs as i stared at the paper in front of me. I glanced over to my forearm, where a fresh gash was spilling blood into a small bowl. I grabbed my arm and squeezed it, making the steady stream of blood grow bigger.
"Ow--" I gasped. The cut burned like fire. But my attention turned to the quill pen that I had managed to find in my closet the other day. I picked it up with my quivering hand, and dipped it into the bowl filled to the brim with my blood. With the pen, I wrote.
My life is a prison
And I want to get out.
In it, I am helpless;
No one to hear me shout.
Each moment is harder
To endure, to survive
Sometimes I really wish
That I would just die.
There's a darkness pulling me under,
I can hardly breathe.
Why isn't someone
Here to rescue me?
How can I live,
When my heart's already broken?
All that's left is a shell,
Give or take, nothing spoken.
I let out a small sob as I finished the poem and laid the pen by my side, and picked up the shining silver knife already stained in blood. I let out a small shriek as I felt the blade sever my skin of my other wrist. But it didn't hurt; I couldn't feel anything anymore.
Then I heard a knock on the door, making me jump.
"Max?" asked a muffled voice that belonged to Iggy. "Is everything okay? What's going on?" he questioned, sounding nervous. I really regretted leaving him like this, I really truly did, but I just couldn't take it.
I closed my eyes, and with a swift final movement of the knife, I had slit my throat. The last thing I saw was Iggy. If I had a choice of any other site I could see before I died, I wouldn't have picked another one.
