Disclaimer: No. No. Hell no.
A/N: I…I… (Okay, so it's a freaky fic, kinda depressing, maybe a tear-jerker… Leave a review, and MAYBE the author will continue…) Did…I…write….this? (Yups. Oh, and please don't send reviews saying, "So and so cannot die!! They are spirits!!" The author doesn't give a damn, and neither do I. In this fic, ANYTHING is possible.)
The Real Folk Blues
Too much time has passed by to
Lament that we were deeply in love
The wind still blowing, while my heart
Cannot heal all the tears in it
He liked flowers. Now they were scattered along the floor along with fragments of a vase. He had broken it, dropped it when he was trying to put it down on a table. He had felt the water flow through his fingers, the flowers as they brushed passed his hands, the sharp glass fragments as they had enlodged themselves in his hands. He liked pain. You couldn't put heartbreak in words, or sound. Only in pain. He had a big shard in his hand. He reached to yank it out.
A memory... Someone else who grabbed that very hand, to lead it. He hated that someone else. He clenched his fist, and the glass shard twisted itself deeper in. He didn't mind the pain. The pain felt nice. It was comforting. He looked for more of the glass shards, and found them all over the floor, and the...flowers...
They were his favorite kind, white roses. How ironic his favorite color was black, the color of darkness and unhappiness. Just like him. The roses were so pretty, he remembered... A time when he would get big bouquets of these flowers, and he would smile and be happy, and someone else would smile. A sharp prick in his finger made him look, a rose thorn. Such pretty flowers were so dangerous. Love was like that. So fun, and happy, but dangerous.
One side of my eyes see tomorrow,
And the other one see yesterday
I hope I could sleep in the cradle
Of your love, again
He wanted more of this pain, the sensation that made him forget all about his aching heart, that let him look at others with no jealousy, that let him be free. He needed this pain. His fingers searched the floor despretely, till a big sharp piece was in his hand. He held it up to the faint light that penetrated the room, and watched the rainbow patterns dancing. He ran his fingers along the sharp edges. He pressed the shard deeper into his fingers, watching the blood ooze out, and make small droplets on the floor. It hurt.
The little blood was not enough. He needed more pain, more to forget. He needed to forget that person, the one that had made him fall in love, then had played with his heart, then left him for other things. He loved that person. He liked it when that person gave him presents, he liked it when that person had touched him, sending happy shivers up his spine. He liked to be happy. But now...
It was too hard to be happy. It hurt to pretend to be happy, just for the other people that cared. He had never trusted anyone before. Something, something inside had whispered to him not to trust anyone. He'd just get hurt in the end. The one whom he loved had hurt him. Turned from the jaded, wary one to someone who was jelly in anyone hand's.
Someone, cry for me with parched eyes
The shard dug deeper into his hand, making lines of red across the pale flesh. The pain was greater now, it felt good. He needed more of this pain. He sat in the puddle of water and roses, lost. This all felt so...right. To sit here, slowly cutting away until there was nothing left. The one whom he had loved would've come and tried to stop him. There was no one who cared enough to stop him now. A long lock of hair fell in his eyes, he brushed it away. Someone else would brush his golden bangs away from his face, and kiss him, and tell him he would never leave.
People lie. They lie all the time. All the people that had told him they would never leave all went, had to move on, they couldn't wait for him. Just another speed bump of life, run over and left behind. He closed his eyes and fought back the tears that he refused to let fall, he wouldn't cry. He had to be strong, don't cry. Crying just shows you have feelings, emotions that should've died along with you. Maybe if you didn't have feelings, you wouldn't get hurt. Maybe that's why his lover moved on.
The real folk blues
I only want to know what true sadness is
Sitting in muddy water
Isn't such a bad life, it ends after the first time
He couldn't remember having any friends. No one would come to play with him, to smile and laugh with him. Everyone hated him. He never cried. It was bad to cry. He would sit there, watching other children playing wistfully, wishing he could come play too. He had a friend later on. That friend said he would never leave him. But now he was all alone again, watching that one friend have fun with his friends. He hated that person with a passion unlike anything else. He wasn't his friend.
Without thinking, the shard slashed downwards, cutting into his wrist. He watched the blood trickle out. He missed the crucial vein. He didn't understand anything anymore. Everything was a warped reality, nothing was real. Maybe he wouldn't miss the vein the next time. Maybe when you were dead, everything made sense. He had been dead before... Everything was a bleak, dark emptiness. He liked the dark.
He slowly realized he was clutching one of the roses. He looked at it, staring at the fragile petals, his dead eyes running across the deadly stem, the small green leaves. He slowly reached one of his hands, trembling to pry a white petal out. He plucked it, watching it fall to the ground, to land in the water. Soon, he slowly reached for another, plucking the flower of the petals that made it beautiful.
Hopeless hope,
And the chance with traps
What is right, or wrong
It's like a both side of a coin
Now he sat in a pool of white petals, beauty spread all over the floor, floating in a puddle of water, with droplets of blood mixed in here and there. He had been called beautiful before. By the one he loved. That person had smiled at him, and touched the once tanner skin, and called him beautiful. He would give anything in the world to have that person here right now. Even if he were laughing and mocking him, like before he realized his short-lived love, he would want him here.
He wouldn't mind if his friend was here. To run over and hug him, and to say that everything would be alright. But no one was here. He was all alone. He closed his eyes. There was no reason to stay. He stretched his feeble imagination, to feel two small arms around his waist, and two rough hands caressing his face. Two different voices, one gruff and unaccustomed to being kind, and one perfectly suited to the task. He imagined two faces, one smiling and radiant, big eyes smiling up at him... One who stayed shrouded in the darkness, eyes dark and jaded, but smiling slightly at him.
But the illusions vanished when he opened his eyes, and looked around in the darkness. No one was there. It was only him and a broken vase of roses. He clutched the shard, and calmly reached towards his wrist.
How long must I live till release?
He slowly drew the glass shard across his wrist, in exactly the right place, exactly the right depth. The blood spurted, and flowed smoothly, staining his clothes, spreading in the pool of water. He watched the blood flow, enjoying the pain and the steadily coming darkness. The throbbing of his head was paining him, but he enjoyed it. Pain was good.
The bitter redness stained the water, turning it to a blood red color, that matched his eyes perfectly, in it's dark depths and empty corridors. Why was he still alive? Shouldn't...he be dead now? He wanted to be dead. A lonely soul, who never belonged anywhere, called death's angel, begging it to hurry. There was always beauty in darkness. This darkness was most beautiful, the darkness of eternal sleep.
The real folk blues
I just want to feel a real pleasure
All that glitters is not gold
Now, the darkness was overtaking him, pulling him into the halls of nothingness. The one he loved, with his long pale hair, and jaded brown orbs floated away out of his mindframe. His heart would forever lie in pieces, unable to heal. The only one that had ever befriended him, with his smiling violet eyes, the other he, drifted away on a wind. His soul was shattered. All he knew now, was that the pain he longed for so badly was here. He closed his eyes. His hand reached for one of the flowers he loved so dearly, then stopped.
Soon, a boy lay in a pool of blood, a look of bitter satisfaction on his face. White petals floated around him, adding a bit of morbid beauty to the scene. Glass shards were everywhere. One of his hands were extended towards a rose, his fingers inclined as if to take it, just out of reach.
The real folk blues
I only want to know what true sadness is
Sitting in muddy water
Isn't such a bad life, it ends after the first time