Title: Bloody Photo
Author: Nikki_Chan
Disclaimer: not mine never will be please don't sue
Warnings: Angst, suicide
"Gay.... Gay he can't be gay, it's not right, he's supposed to be with me not... not him. "But he is and he's gay." The figure sat on her bed with a photo of two young men in her hand, one young man's hand resting on the shoulder of the other. Looking at the photo, she grew angry and tore it in half and sobbed. "We were met to be together. That's how it works: boy goes to war, boy meets girl in war, boy and girl fall in love, then boy and girl live happily ever after." The figure curled up on her side, hugging a pillow to herself. Outside her window the sky shown a brilliant light blue, fluffy clouds floating across in lazy leisure, almost like they didn't care that someone was suffering in their silent grief.
Sniffling a few more times, the young girl stood and walked to her window. She looked out to the land below before sneering and closing her blinds, blocking out the warm and happy weather. After all, how could the day be so perfect when her life was so shattered? Turning back to bed, she walked over and picked up one half of the photo. Looking at it brought more tears to her eyes, but, wiping them away, she walked into her little bathroom. She placed the picture on the sink and washed her hands vigorously, almost as if to wash away a nasty stain. On the counter was a small item that glows when the small bathroom light hits it. She took it and laid it on her wrist, gliding it across slowly, feeling the cold hardness that it has, thinking how it reflected her heart now that she knew the truth.
Pressing the blade down so it bit into her flesh, she winced slightly at the pain before dragging the blade across the rest of her arm. She watched as the first drop of crimson appeared and flowed down her arm, into the sink and onto the picture. It was almost like an endless river; but she knew that wasn't so, that it would end sometime. Things always do, just like her dreams. Switching the blade to her other hand, she watched as it shook before concentrating and holding still, only to slide it down the other unmarked wrist. The girl winced only slightly at the sharp pain it brought, again watching the endless river of red. The blood-soaked picture laid in her trembling hands; she held it until black spots started to mar her vision. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, suddenly feeling cold even though it was warm inside the apartment. Sliding down the wall till she was resting on the floor, she closed her eyes against the dizziness that assaulted her before opening them to see herself sitting in a lake of blood. She closed her eyes, fell into the darkness, surrendering herself to the pull of the floor, and the last she remembered was being swallowed by the lake of blood.
We see the girl slumped against the wall, her breathing shallow, a picture clutched in her hand before the picture floats to the ground landing on the pool of blood. As we look closer at the picture we see laughter in the persons eyes and a foot long braid, the last thought going though the young girls head – he was supposed to be mine... – before her breathing slowed then stopped completely. Outside that tiny bathroom and small window, the sun shone and the birds sang, never noticing that yet another person had left that day, wishing he could have been hers.
"Gay.... Gay he can't be gay, it's not right, he's supposed to be with me not... not him. "But he is and he's gay." The figure sat on her bed with a photo of two young men in her hand, one young man's hand resting on the shoulder of the other. Looking at the photo, she grew angry and tore it in half and sobbed. "We were met to be together. That's how it works: boy goes to war, boy meets girl in war, boy and girl fall in love, then boy and girl live happily ever after." The figure curled up on her side, hugging a pillow to herself. Outside her window the sky shown a brilliant light blue, fluffy clouds floating across in lazy leisure, almost like they didn't care that someone was suffering in their silent grief.
Sniffling a few more times, the young girl stood and walked to her window. She looked out to the land below before sneering and closing her blinds, blocking out the warm and happy weather. After all, how could the day be so perfect when her life was so shattered? Turning back to bed, she walked over and picked up one half of the photo. Looking at it brought more tears to her eyes, but, wiping them away, she walked into her little bathroom. She placed the picture on the sink and washed her hands vigorously, almost as if to wash away a nasty stain. On the counter was a small item that glows when the small bathroom light hits it. She took it and laid it on her wrist, gliding it across slowly, feeling the cold hardness that it has, thinking how it reflected her heart now that she knew the truth.
Pressing the blade down so it bit into her flesh, she winced slightly at the pain before dragging the blade across the rest of her arm. She watched as the first drop of crimson appeared and flowed down her arm, into the sink and onto the picture. It was almost like an endless river; but she knew that wasn't so, that it would end sometime. Things always do, just like her dreams. Switching the blade to her other hand, she watched as it shook before concentrating and holding still, only to slide it down the other unmarked wrist. The girl winced only slightly at the sharp pain it brought, again watching the endless river of red. The blood-soaked picture laid in her trembling hands; she held it until black spots started to mar her vision. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, suddenly feeling cold even though it was warm inside the apartment. Sliding down the wall till she was resting on the floor, she closed her eyes against the dizziness that assaulted her before opening them to see herself sitting in a lake of blood. She closed her eyes, fell into the darkness, surrendering herself to the pull of the floor, and the last she remembered was being swallowed by the lake of blood.
We see the girl slumped against the wall, her breathing shallow, a picture clutched in her hand before the picture floats to the ground landing on the pool of blood. As we look closer at the picture we see laughter in the persons eyes and a foot long braid, the last thought going though the young girls head – he was supposed to be mine... – before her breathing slowed then stopped completely. Outside that tiny bathroom and small window, the sun shone and the birds sang, never noticing that yet another person had left that day, wishing he could have been hers.
