A/N: I hope that you liked the prologue and if you don't I am very sorry.
Please feel free to review. This should be my last updating until I get
back from skiing (I'll be back the 3rd). Thanx for reading.
~Kitsune~
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= Chapter 1: Happiness is a Loaded Gun
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? I have and now I think I know. Dieing is not physical. It is when your soul shrivels up and starts to rot. It is when you hurt too much too care. I am dieing. Now if only I could leave this world. Hopefully, I will. The wise always say that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but if that is true, why all this pain? Love is just another way to bleed and happiness is a loaded gun, ready to be shot so as to malfunction and kill its holder. When Grandpa left the gun was placed in my hands and now it has gone off. I am so sorry. Death is all encompassing. It is a void that is swallowing me. Peice- by-peice I disappear. And now I have found the faith to kill myself. No, not myself. Kill the pain. Remove it permanently. I have found the strength to kill the monster before it killed me. I destroyed the soul-eating black hole inside me. Remember this, all answers are no. Life hurts. Death cures all.
-Pan --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--=
The pain was immense, but the ebony-haired woman ignored it. She kept the razor-edged knife pressed against porcelain wrists and then pulled the knife across. Almost immediately, little crimson drops stained white arms. Slowly, like a careening wagon gaining velocity when speeding down a steep hill, more red liquid appeared till it overflowed. And, like a waterfall, fell to the floor. Noone could save her now, that fallen angel with the blighted heart. For, in life, none may help one save oneself, and when one gives up, all is lost. Finally the waterfall started to dry up, its source drained of the precious blood, till all that was left was an unsteady trickle that dripped into a lake of red. And it took an eternity for each small drop to form and finally fall. It was as if time was slowed and everything took ten times as long to happen and fifty for the action to be complete. Now the raven-haired female lay on her side, framed by her blood, lifeless. The pale cream skin looked the same, but no tingle of life shone from her eyes, betraying the life-like appearance of the corpse. Her wrist was thrown above her head, as if, saint-like, she was reaching for the heavens, or maybe like an auctioneer showing off some precious bauble. And across her wrist the slit shone like some macrebre thing. It was as if Satan himself had made a home in that horrid gash, and the eternal flames of hell glinted evilly from within his new home. The demons danced around the slash. The crimson color clashed horribly with the porcelein of her skin. And nothing could be done to erase the red ink from the white paper. And then, like an eye-dropper sucking up water, all color vanished from her body. The corpse that was once beautiful and as colorful as the rainbow became gray and dull. Life and soul left the body leaving behind only an empty case. Nothing that was loved in that person was left and all must pay the price. But what price can be put on a human life? Life is to be pure, prized, and priceless. No amount of money can but back a life, no amount of tears ressucitate dead lips. Life is an intangible thing, and is the most expensively fragile item possessed by all.
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= Chapter 1: Happiness is a Loaded Gun
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? I have and now I think I know. Dieing is not physical. It is when your soul shrivels up and starts to rot. It is when you hurt too much too care. I am dieing. Now if only I could leave this world. Hopefully, I will. The wise always say that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but if that is true, why all this pain? Love is just another way to bleed and happiness is a loaded gun, ready to be shot so as to malfunction and kill its holder. When Grandpa left the gun was placed in my hands and now it has gone off. I am so sorry. Death is all encompassing. It is a void that is swallowing me. Peice- by-peice I disappear. And now I have found the faith to kill myself. No, not myself. Kill the pain. Remove it permanently. I have found the strength to kill the monster before it killed me. I destroyed the soul-eating black hole inside me. Remember this, all answers are no. Life hurts. Death cures all.
-Pan --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--=
The pain was immense, but the ebony-haired woman ignored it. She kept the razor-edged knife pressed against porcelain wrists and then pulled the knife across. Almost immediately, little crimson drops stained white arms. Slowly, like a careening wagon gaining velocity when speeding down a steep hill, more red liquid appeared till it overflowed. And, like a waterfall, fell to the floor. Noone could save her now, that fallen angel with the blighted heart. For, in life, none may help one save oneself, and when one gives up, all is lost. Finally the waterfall started to dry up, its source drained of the precious blood, till all that was left was an unsteady trickle that dripped into a lake of red. And it took an eternity for each small drop to form and finally fall. It was as if time was slowed and everything took ten times as long to happen and fifty for the action to be complete. Now the raven-haired female lay on her side, framed by her blood, lifeless. The pale cream skin looked the same, but no tingle of life shone from her eyes, betraying the life-like appearance of the corpse. Her wrist was thrown above her head, as if, saint-like, she was reaching for the heavens, or maybe like an auctioneer showing off some precious bauble. And across her wrist the slit shone like some macrebre thing. It was as if Satan himself had made a home in that horrid gash, and the eternal flames of hell glinted evilly from within his new home. The demons danced around the slash. The crimson color clashed horribly with the porcelein of her skin. And nothing could be done to erase the red ink from the white paper. And then, like an eye-dropper sucking up water, all color vanished from her body. The corpse that was once beautiful and as colorful as the rainbow became gray and dull. Life and soul left the body leaving behind only an empty case. Nothing that was loved in that person was left and all must pay the price. But what price can be put on a human life? Life is to be pure, prized, and priceless. No amount of money can but back a life, no amount of tears ressucitate dead lips. Life is an intangible thing, and is the most expensively fragile item possessed by all.