Day 9 – 9th circle of Hell (Briefly based on the film 'What becomes of the broken hearted')

Warnings – This story deals with suicide, rape, drug use, violence, death, and domestic abuse. You have been warned.

--

For most teenagers, life is hell. Every hates you and the world is against you. But for Arthur Pendragon, being a teenager has descended his life into the ninth circle of hell.

It started when he was 13, when he finally started to realise what was going on in his home. His father, Uther was a lazy layabout, a drunk and an abusive husband. He moved from job to job, being fired before he could even complete his first day. After a few months of this, he got fed up and signed up for benefits, sending his family into spiralling debts that they couldn't afford to pay off as he spend hours after hours in the pub with his friends. Igraine tried her best to hold the family together with what little money Uther would spare her, but times were hard and she often went hungry. Her son of course, would always eat. She would go to any lengths to make sure her son was well fed.

"Mum, it's ok, I don't need breakfast. I get free lunch at school. I'll just ask for a bigger portion," Arthur insisted as Igraine attempted to slip a box of eggs into her coat. It was 6am, and Arthur and Igraine were in the local shop. Igraine had found a pound in her purse, and had taken advantage of the fact that Uther was asleep, and slipped out to buy a loaf of bread. A single pound it may be, but it was enough for a half pint of Fosters.

"You can't have just toast Arthur, you need your strength," Igraine insisted. She glanced over her shoulder at the man behind the counter, and, seeing that he was busy with early-morning commuters, slipped the eggs into her pocket.

"Mother!" Arthur cried. But it was too late, Igraine had slipped out of the door, and was walking home as fast as she could, without looking suspicious. Arthur darted out after her, the loaf of bread swinging in his hand. He caught up with her as she attempted to slip in the front door unnoticed, but it was too late. The lights blazed into life and Uther tore the door open before Igraine could even turn her key. Arthur couldn't help but cower behind the bush. As much as he wanted to stand up for his mother, his 13 year old self was no match for Uther, who towered over him, and was in more bar fights that he could care to remember.

"Where the hell have you been woman?" he raged the second the door was open. His face had darkened to the deepest of reds, his eyes bulged, his fists clenched. Igraine ducked her head and mumbled something about Arthur and eggs. "Liar!" he screamed. "You've been cheating on me, haven't you? HAVEN'T YOU?" Uther grabbed Igraine's hair and pulled her head up, so that her nervous eyes met his swelling ones. Again Igraine mumbled, her voice becoming higher and higher the more she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the box of eggs. "You dare to spend my money without my permission?" Uther raged as he snatched the eggs from Igraine's palm. He let go of Igraine's hair so that he could open the box, but then proceeded to smash each egg, one by one, into Igraine's sobbing face. "Don't you dare defy me ever again," he yelled, before finally pushing Igraine to the floor. He grabbed his coat and slipped out of the front door. "I'm going to the pub," he said as he swept round the corner. 6.30am it may be, but he was Uther Pendragon. No one would dare send him away from their pub. At least not a second time. As soon as Uther was out of sight, Arthur ran to his sobbing, broken mother.

"Mum, are you ok?" he asked as he dumped the bread and wiped the egg from her face. She smiled as her son and pushed his hands away.

"I'm fine... really Arthur don't look at me like that, I am fine!" she insisted as she stumbled to her feet. Arthur however, could see in the early morning light, that bruises were forming on her face, due to the sheer amount of force Uther had used in smashing the eggs in her face.

"Mum..." he whispered, grimacing at her swollen features. Igraine again, shook her face and smiled.

"It's nothing Arthur, truly. Now, breakfast? No egg's I'm afraid, but you like toast, right?"

--

"Arthur, this is the third time you have been sent to my office this week! This sort of behaviour isn't like you. Is there anything you want to tell me, problems at home? With a girl?" Arthur shook his head as is head teacher gave him a caring expression that simply made it look like he was forcing sympathy on the young man in front of him.

"I'm fine," he said in an offhand way, with a shrug of his shoulders. He folded his arms and looked down, suddenly finding the black stuff under his nails extremely interesting.

"Arthur, I'm afraid I'm going to have to send a letter home to your parents," the head teacher continued, trying his best to make it seem like this was the last thing he wanted to do. In truth, he normally would just sent a letter home straight away, no questions asked. But his shrink had told him he should try and be calmer and kinder to his students, and maybe they might stop egging his car.

"Fine," Arthur said with a shrug of his shoulders. A letter home would be nothing. His father didn't deal with the mail, and his mother would just sigh, hug him, and tell him not to do it again. The head teacher sighed, pulled a stack of forms closer and started to fill one in.

The truth behind Arthurs recent appalling behaviour was simply that he was being bullied. Simply being a stupid word really, as it was getting to Arthur. The other kids picked up on the fact that he got free school dinners, wore the same clothes a lot and came from an abusive, dysfunctional household.

There was the time Arthur had come in late to school, after spending the night in A & E with his mother.

"Aww did your daddy beat up your mummy again? What you too much of a wimp to stand up to him yourself?" one boy had taunted as he had pushed Arthur and laughed. Arthur said nothing, did nothing, simply took the abuse with gentle grace.

"Are you retarded or somethin'? " another boy questioned, stepping in to shove Arthur as well. Still Arthur said nothing, did nothing. The two boys sniggered and taunted as the pushed Arthur back and forth between them like a ragged play thing. It was when Arthur finally slumped to the floor in pain that they stopped.

"Whatever happed to your mum, she deserved it, bitch needs to learn some respect," the first boy jeered as the second boy gave Arthur one final kick.

"Don't you dare say anything about my mother, don't you dare!" Arthur fumed. And then he was on his feet. And then the lashing out began. The screams, and the kicks and punches. And Arthur was beaten down, and more people joined in while others heckled and watched. Nevertheless still Arthur fought back, still he defended his mother, but there was no stopping the other kids, no end to the pain and the torment.

From then on, the kids knew what buttons to press to get to Arthur, knew what to say to wind him up and make him start a fight. So Arthur found himself getting in more and more trouble, but not once would he ever step down. Not when it was his mother they were taunting.

--

Soon however, his mother wasn't there to talk him though his hurt, his torment. She was taken away from him, or rather; he was taken away from her. His aggressive behaviour in the school yard, coupled with his problems at home, meant he was taken into temporary foster care, where he was to stay until it was deemed safe for him to return. His foster home was terrible, the parents worked all day and all night, the other kids were drunks and addicts and the house was far away from everything he knew, everyone he cared about. From his mother. And though she was allowed to visit, Uther wouldn't allow it. Apparently £3.00 is too much to spare for a bus ticket there and back. Yet every Saturday, Arthur would sit in the window that watched out over the bus stop and he would wait and wait, and his heart would race every time the 333 stopped, only for it to sink again when his mother did not step off. It would be dark before Arthur gave up, and he would slip away to his room in despair, rejecting dinner (despite the fact that Saturday was take out night) and ignoring everyone. Once alone, he would throw himself onto his bed and cry. But still, every Saturday, there he sat at the window, waiting for his mother, who he know, deep down, would never come.

Of course the bulling started again, but it was worse now. There was no escape, because he lived with his tormenters, and he had no one to turn to for comfort, not with his mother so far away.

There was the time he came home late from school to find that his room had been broken into. All the letters, the pictures, the presents and treats that his mother had sent him had been destroyed or stolen. Pieces of paper, no bigger than the palm of his hand, littered the floor, covering every surface. Some held words, some bits of pictures, all of it from his mother, all of it memories from home. Comfort. Reassurance. And that's when he snapped, again. He didn't know who had been in his room, but frankly he didn't care. He stormed out of his room, slamming the door shut as he did so. He ran down the stairs as fast as he legs would carry him, pulling down the pictures and lists of rules that adorned the walls.

"Who the fuck has been in my room?" he screamed, bursting into the living area, an aura of sheer rage coming off him that was so strong, everyone could feel it. Everyone froze, stared at Arthur confused. "Tell me!" Arthur demanded after a few seconds of silence. Still no one spoke, no one moved. "One of you wankers has been in my room! Now own the fuck up!" Still nothing. Even more enraged by the silence, Arthur walked up to the TV and stood behind it. "Own the fuck up or I'll smash the fucking telly," he roared.

"Dude.... chill..." said his blond haired foster 'brother'. Arthur glared at him, he was clearly very stoned, and was clearly, not taking Arthur seriously.

"Shut the fuck up Simon! I am not going to 'chill' until someone tells me who was in my fucking room!" Arthur cried.

"Look mate, no one has been in your room," Simon insisted. Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a few scraps of paper, he threw them into the air and they slowly fell through the room before they settled on the table in front of Simon. "Aw mate, ain't they those letters from your mum?" Simon asked as he picked up and piece and read the few words that remained on its crumpled surface.

"Yeah, mate, they were," Arthur said, being sure to put a lot of emphasis in his sarcastic use of the word 'mate'. Simon raised an eyebrow.

"It weren't me!" he claimed, holding up his hands as if that would prove his innocence. Arthur turned his gaze from Simon, to the others in the room.

"Well, what about the rest of you?" he demanded. Melissa, the only girl, shook her head, then returned to her book. The others in the room exchanged nervous glance's, but otherwise, did nothing. "Right then, you want to play it this way? Fine by me!" he snarled, and then, without warning, used all his strength to push the TV to the floor. It smashed on impact. "Have it that way then!" Arthur continued. He flew round the room, destroying everything he could get his hands on. He smashed vase's, pulled down pictures, and kicked over any furniture that got in his way. Everyone but stoned Simon fled the room as Arthur destroyed everything he laid his hands on. Someone must have called the police, because before Arthur knew it, he was on the floor and he was being cuffed. Everything around him was a blur. People were talking to him but he didn't hear what was being said, all he was aware of was the fact that he was being led into a waiting police car.

--

Arthur sat in the waiting room of the local court house. He was due to be sentenced for criminal damage, but he knew he was going to a juvenile detention centre. No foster home would have him now, and there was no way he would be allowed to be with his parents.

"Oh Arthur, why did you do it?" his mother asked him, as she slipped her hand over his. She had only just arrived at the court, but Arthur knew she had to wait until his father passed out before she could slip away. Arthur shrugged his shoulders, and blinked away the tears in his eyes. He had hurt his mother, hurt her bad. It was the worst feeling in the world.

"They might let you come home son. Your dad, he hasn't been hitting me. Not at all. A social worker came by to check things out yesterday, and she said she could see real improvement in our relationship," Igraine said with a smile. Arthur looked at her, really looked at her and found that here wasn't even the slightest trace of a bruise anywhere on her. Arthur smiled and nodded.

"I'll still have a record though mum," he whispered, looking grim, despite the playful smile he had forced onto his lips. Igraine sighed but squeezed her son's hand.

"Maybe. But we'll work round it, I promise," she said. Arthur nodded, but didn't look very hopeful. "Hey! Arthur things are going to get better, I promise," she insisted. Again Arthur nodded, but this time he let his tears fall.

"I'm so scared mum. I don't want to go locked up," he whispered. Igraine couldn't help but pull her son into her arms.

--

Arthur was allowed home. In fact, he got away without a criminal record. He was simply told he had to attend anger management class's. If he did not attend them however, or his social worker believed they were not working, he would end up in court again.

For the first few days, everything was great at home. Uther stayed with his family, didn't touch a drop of booze. He gave Igraine money to buy food, clothes, and was suddenly calm and kind. For a few blissful days, Arthur truly believed that his mother's words had come true, and that everything was going to be alright. But of course, it wasn't long before his new found happiness came crashing down around him.

It started with one drink. It was Uther's best friend's birthday and he attended the party a few miles away. He returned at 3am, drunk, high and angry. Arthur had been asleep at the time, but the slam of the front door woke him in an instance. He heard his mother rush downstairs to ask Uther to be quite, it was 3am after all, and then he heard Uther hit her. The sound rang in his ears, or at least that's what it felt like, it was more likely that Uther hit Igraine again and again, because the next thing Arthur knew, all was silent, save from his mother's quite sobs. He went to her of course, but from there, it was like nothing had changed at all.

--

It was just two weeks later than Arthur's life truly entered the 9th circle of hell. Uther had brought a group of his mates home from the pub and had started a party. The booze was flowing, and more and more people kept turning up. Igraine was at her mother's for the weekend, and so Arthur was left all alone to deal with it. He spent most of the night huddled in the corner of the living room, an ignored beer clasped in his hand (Someone had thrust it into his hand after Uther refused to let him go to his room), a lost expression on his face. Uther passed out just before midnight, and so Arthur slipped from the room, and took refuge in his own. The refuge however, did not last long.

At about 1am the noise died down and people left. From what Arthur could hear, they were going to someone else's house to continue the party. He sighed in relief, he was so desperate to sleep, and slipped into bed. Seconds later, he heard someone coming up the stairs, but ignored it, figuring it was his father, and tried to slumber. But then his door opened. Then he came in. James, otherwise known as 'Biggsy', was Uther's best friend, and he was standing in Arthurs door way, swaying, a vicious smirk on his face.

"Arthur," he whispered, his voice low, sexual. "How long I've wanted you..." and although he stumbled as he made his way into the room, Arthur couldn't help but panic. This man was here to rape him. He darted out of bed and backed himself up against the wall.

"Leave me alone!" he demanded in his best attempt at a brave voice. Biggsy snickered.

"Oh but Arthur, baby, you've wanted me too. I know you have..." he slurred, stumbling again as he made his way over to Arthur.

"I'll scream!" Arthur threatened, but Biggsy only laughed.

"Go ahead little man, but I assure you, the only person here is your father. And he ain't even conscious," Biggsy taunted. Arthur gulped and moved along the wall, trying his best to get to the door before Biggsy could get to him.

"He'll kill you if you do this!" Arthur said again, his threatening tone diminishing with every word.

"Really? I was under the impression that Uther didn't give a fuck about you," Biggsy said. Arthur gulped again, but said nothing. "Ah, I'm right aren't I little man? Oh well don't worry kiddo, Uncle Biggsy still care's about you," he insisted, he smirk now reaching a new kind of viciousness.

"I don't give a fuck about you!" Arthur whispered angrily through gritted teeth. Biggsy simply laughed, and was suddenly sober in an instance.

"Well, this won't be fun for you then, will it?" he yelled, laughter gone, anger replacing it. Arthur ran for the door but Biggsy caught him before he could get to it, and tackled him to the floor. He attempted to kiss Arthur's cheek, but Arthur fought hard and threw back his head in an attempt to head-butt Biggsy. He missed. "Oi! Stay the fuck still Arthur! Stay still or I'll fucking stab your mother!" he screamed into Arthur's ear. Arthur stopped moving in an instant. He couldn't be sure if what Biggsy was saying was true, but he couldn't risk it. Not his mother. "Good boy. Now, I'm going to let you up. You gonna do a runner?" Biggsy asked. Arthur shook his head.

"No..." he whimpered, barely able to hear himself. Biggsy nodded and let him go.

"Good lad. Now, on your feet," he said as he himself stood up. Arthur, shaking and sobbing violently pulled himself to his feet. "Good... now, your clothes. Off. All of 'em," Biggsy ordered. Arthur didn't move. "You do what I say boy or I'll make sure that this knife finds its way into your mother's body, alright?" Biggsy muttered, a knife in his hand. Arthur had no idea where the knife had come from, but nodded. "Well come on then! Clothes. Off!" Biggsy demanded. Arthur nodded and didn't hesitate as he stripped off. Biggsy watched with a sickening smirk on his lips the whole time. "On the bed. Lie on your front, and spread your legs!" Biggsy demanded. Again Arthur refused to move. "MOVE! OR DO YOU WANT YOUR MOTHER DEAD?" Biggsy screamed. Arthur trembled and shook his head.

"No! No... please don't hurt her... please!" Arthur begged. Biggsy nodded his head towards the bed. Arthur nodded and did as he was told. He lay down on the bed, face first, and spread his legs. Behind him he could hear Biggsy stripping off, and found he had to cling to his pillow to stop himself from sobbing. Seconds later, Biggsy was straddling him, just below his buttocks. Arthur felt hot bile rise in his throat, but gulped it back, knowing it would only make Biggsy angrier if he puked. The vomit settled in his stomach, overwhelming him with an urge to vomit. Coupled with the fear of what he knew was about to come, Arthur had never felt worse in his life. But he knew worse was to come. Arthur knew enough about gay sex to know he'd have to be prepared first in order to make things as easy as possible. But he was right in thinking that Biggsy wasn't going to bother with that. Without so much as a word of warning, Biggsy grabbed Arthur's hips, and pushed into him with all the strength he could muster. Arthur wanted to cry out, but thought better of it, and instead, bit down onto his pillow. The pain, it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It surged through him, filling his entire body with a white hot throbbing, the centre of which, was at his anus, which felt as though it were on fire. Arthur whimpered into the pillow as Biggsy leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck me Arthur... you are tight! Now you just lay back and relax. Uncle Biggsy gonna take care of you," he promised. And then he moved. He pulled back slowly, and thrust back into him at the same sluggish rate. It felt like razors were being dragged in and out of Arthur, but still, he held back his screams. Again Biggsy thrust in and out, a little faster this time. And then again, and again. Faster each time. And with each thrust, the pain worsened, with each thrust, Arthur's grip on his pillow tightened. He was in so much pain, so much that he wished that he would just die. Every few thrusts, Biggsy would lean forward and mutter in Arthur's ear again. Words that would be said to one's lover, not the person they were raping. Everything that Biggsy said washed over Arthur's head, for now, all Arthur was aware of was the pain. It completely overtook him, blinded him, shattered him, but still he refused to scream. He could feel blood dripping onto his sheets, and knew that he had been torn, but still ne did not scream. He could not risk it. He knew if he did, Biggsy might kill his mother. Finally, after what felt like hours, Biggsy cried out inaudibly and Arthur felt a hot liquid shoot into his body. Biggsy was done. It was almost over. The older man pulled out of Arthur, and cleaned himself up using the tissues that Arthur kept on his bedside table. He ignored Arthur completely, bloodied and sobbing on the bed, as he dressed and lit a cigarette. It wasn't until he was half out the bedroom door, that he turned to Arthur and said. "Clean yourself up... and don't you even think about telling anyone. You do that, and your mother will be 6ft under by the end of the day!" He then simply slammed the door shut, and slipped out of the house.

As soon as the front door slammed, Arthur started to sob, pausing only to vomit violently on the floor. He stumbled out of bed and into his bathroom. He ran a bath, not caring that the hot water hadn't been on. He got in before the water was even an inch deep and immediately began scrubbing violently at his body. The water had turned red around him, but he didn't care. He just wanted to rid himself of the feeling of Biggsy's skin on his. For hours he sat there, scrubbing until his skin was red. The only care he took in cleaning himself, was when he cleaned his anus. It was raw, open, bleeding. The pain he felt when he touched it was overwhelming. He treated the wound with care. Once done, Arthur pulled the soiled and bloody sheets of his bed and rushed downstairs to put them in the bin before anyone could see them. He shoved them under bags of rubbish, and then returned to his room to clean up any evidence of the nights events. It was dawn by the time he finished, and he collapsed into his bed, exhausted. He was unable to sleep however, and simply lay in bed, remembering what had happened over and over again, silent tears dripping down his face the entire time.

--

"Arthur look at me! What is the matter with you?" Igraine demanded a week later. A week in which Arthur hadn't spoken. A week in which he had cried himself to sleep every night. A week in which he'd relived his rape in every waking moment. Arthur looked at his mother, but simply shook his head. Igraine sighed and reached out for Arthur's hand. Arthur pulled his hand away. "Arthur please talk to me son... please. I can see something is very wrong with you, but how can I help you if you don't tell me what it is!" Igraine begged, tears falling down her face. Still Arthur said nothing, despite how much it hurt to see his mother so distressed. He couldn't trust himself to open his mouth. He did not know what he would say if he did. Igraine ran a hand through her limp hair, before resting her weary head in her hands, elbows propped up on the table. After a few seconds, Igraine snapped. "ARTHUR TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!" She shrieked, standing up in order to tower over her mute son. Still Arthur said nothing, instead choosing to flee the room. He rushed out of the front door, and slammed the door shut behind him. Igraine attempted to follow him, but was grabbed by Uther and smashed into the wall.

"You dare to disturb my sleep woman?" he raged. But Igraine wasn't listening; she merely stared at the front door, wishing she knew what was going on within her son's mind.

--

Arthur went to the only place he felt he could go, the only place he felt he could be safe. Merlin's. Merlin was an older teenager who lived in a hostel a mile away from Arthur's home. He was always stoned, but he and Arthur got on well. Merlin opened the door after 5 whole minutes of Arthur knocking. The older boy was clearly very stoned, and had undoubtedly been woken up.

"Arthur! Bit early isn't it?" he said with a yawn. Arthur smiled for the first time in a week and informed his friend that it was well past 3pm. Merlin stepped aside with a smile and Arthur slipped in. "I'd offer you a joint, but I know you'd refuse," Merlin said a few minutes later as he stuck a freshly rolled joint in his mouth. Arthur, who was lying on the bed laughed.

"I'll have a few drags," Arthur said. Merlin too laughed, Arthur was so anti-drugs that he wouldn't have believed him, had it not been for the fact that he was holding his hand out of the joint. Merlin raised an eyebrow, but handed it over nevertheless. Arthur chocked and gagged straight away.

"Take it slow, little puffs," Merlin insisted as he plonked himself down next to Arthur. Arthur followed Merlin's advice, and soon felt himself tumbling into a planet where all he could do was giggle, and nothing in the world mattered expect that takeout pizza that was meant to have been here hours ago, that they had only ordered minutes ago.

"You know... you are my bestest... my bestest friend," Arthur said as he accepted the joint from Merlin. He began giggling at the hapless expression on Merlin's face.

"You are mine... bestest... " Merlin muttered. The two teens giggled helplessly for a few minutes, and soon found that they were looking into each other's eyes, whether they meant to or not. Suddenly, Merlin's lips were upon Arthurs. Arthur froze, but Merlin was none the wiser and pressed his lips against Arthurs harder. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Pizza!" Came a voice from the other side. Arthur suddenly found the courage to push Merlin away. It was a half hearted attempt, as Arthur was so stoned, but Merlin fell of the bed all the same.

"Don't you touch me! Don't! Why are you all... why can you just be..." But Arthur couldn't finish, he simply fled from the room, pushing past a confused Pizza delivery guy in his efforts to get away. He could hear Merlin calling after him, but Merlin did not follow.

--

Arthur was barely in the front door when Uther was upon him. He shoved his sobered up son against the wall, and got right in his face.

"Where the hell have you been you ungrateful little druggie?" he snarled, smelling the weed on Arthur's clothes. Arthur said nothing, simply whimpered. "You mother has been out half the goddamn day looking for your sorry ass! Now tell me. Where have you been?" Still Arthur said nothing, despite wanting too. It seemed that his voice did not want to be found. What did find him however, was Uther's fist. Blood spurted from Arthur's nose on impact, and he felt the bone shatter before he felt the pain. "Where have you been?" Uther demanded. Still Arthur could not speak, and so Uther raised his fist once again.

"Leave the boy alone," came Biggsy voice from the living room. "Come on Uther, he's just messed around with a bit of weed with a couple of mates. I'm sure he'd learnt his lesson. Let him go," Uther glared at Arthur, but nevertheless, did as Biggsy said, and let his son go. "There now, Arthur, have you learnt your lesson?" Biggsy continued. Arthur still said nothing, did nothing, not even to stem the bleeding coming from his broken nose.

"You answer him boy, he saved you from a beating, the least you could do is thank him," Uther demanded. Arthur glared at his father and spat out the blood that had filled his mouth.

"I don't want to," he said firmly. Uther's eyes bulged at his son's words, but he did not pause for thought as he grabbed his son by the hair and dragged him towards Biggsy.

"You will thank him. Now!" Uther demanded as he threw his son to floor at Biggsy feet. Arthur still refused to say anything. Uther kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could, winding him. Arthur coughed and choked, but still he said nothing. Before Uther could hit him again, Biggsy spoke again.

"Uther, leave the boy alone. Igraine will be back soon," he said, nodding at the front door. Uther stopped mere millimetres' away from kicking Arthur, and lowered his foot.

"I don't need you to fucking stick up for me James!" Arthur yelled at Biggsy. "I didn't ask for your fucking help!" Uther looked at Biggsy's reaction, but Biggsy simply shook his head.

"Get out of my sight," Uther growled at Arthur. Arthur didn't hesitate for a second. He fled the room and ran into the back garden.

--

Arthur looked up at the tree through tear filled eyes. He remembered happier times, when his father had been sober, and his family had been happy. He and Uther had made a swing out of an old tire one lazy Sunday afternoon, and had hung it from the tree. The tire was long since gone, but the rope still remained. No one had bothered to cut it down. Arthur caught sight of the rope, and knew in an instant what he was going to do. He didn't think about it, he just did it. He struggled up the trunk of the tree, and onto the branch to which the rope was attached. The rope wasn't very long, but was long enough for Arthur to create a noose. Although the branch wasn't very high, Arthur knew it would be high enough to get the job done. Still not thinking about anything but the blissful peace he would be in, in a matter of minutes, Arthur slipped the noose around his neck. The feeling of the rope sent chills down his spine, and fear through his mind, but still he was determined. Still he knew he would fling himself of that branch, into oblivion, into deaths waiting arms. He took only one deep breath of courage before he did it. He just threw himself off the branch. The first few seconds passed as if in slow motion, his body falling though the air, the tightening of the rope around his neck, but all too soon everything was happening fast. He was chocking, was short of breath. He did not struggle, he simply willed himself to die faster. No one cared about him anymore. Nobody. To his father, he was a burden, and a costly one at that. When he was gone, his father would be able to spend more and more money on the drink he loved more than his son and wife. To his mother, he was a disappointment. A friendless school dropout with anger issues who was destined for a life of crime. When he was gone, his mother would not have to worry anymore. To Merlin, the only friend he had ever felt he had, he was just a bit of fun. Someone to do drugs with, to make out with, to pass the time with. When he was gone, Merlin would find another. And to Biggsy, he was just a piece of meat. A piece of meat to be used and abandoned whenever suited him most. Arthur knew that he would find another piece of meat, but quite frankly, Arthur didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. He just wanted it all to end. And then the end came, a painful blackening of his vision and mind, that started slowly at first, but sped up with every breath Arthur failed to take. It was in those last few seconds of his dismal life, that Arthur felt the peace and calm he had never once felt in life. It was in those last few seconds that Arthur was happy, for as much pain as he was in, as weak and dead as he felt, he was finally leaving the hell that was his life, to go on to bigger and better things. Whether that be nothingness, heaven or hell, he knew it had to be better than his life, for truly his life was in the 9th circle of hell, and he couldn't stand to be there a second longer.