Things Better Left Unsaid
Story Two: Kenny
A/N: Umm the only reason I'm posting this is cause SpazzKitty made me D:
I wanted to try writing something in second person POV so I did. Enjoy, and reviews are love.
"Every time I die, I become a little less human."
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
You tripped over your own feet and fell off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic. It was a matter of seconds before you were turned into a bloody pancake on the asphalt.
You go to heaven that time. You're not quite sure why, but you've found it better not to question these things anymore.
Being flung back and forth takes a lot out of you and by the time you finally get back to earth, you have energy only to collapse on the ground and black out. No one seems to notice or care that you're around again.
When you wake up you rake your fingers through messy dirty blonde hair and a single white feather flutters to the ground, triggering a vague memory of wings attached to your back. Large useless things mostly for decoration.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Your parents were arguing again. What a surprise. Mom grabbed the first thing that her hand came into contact with – the broken toaster sitting on the counter – and flung it at dad. It collided with your own head instead.
You slumped to the ground as the blood welled up and the screaming around you failed to cease.
It's all fire and brimstone this time. Hell really isn't as bad as they say, though. Satan is a pretty cool guy as long as he's not dealing with relationship problems (which more often than not he is).
You wake up in your own bed and would like to pretend it was all a dream, some sick twisted nightmare, but the singed sleeve of your parka is an all too prominent reminder.
You go to school. No one acknowledges you were gone.
Your mother doesn't apologize.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
This time it's a result of the stupidity of your friends. It all happened real fast, it was somehow that fucking fatass's fault, though you're not entirely sure how. A sharp pain and then it's black.
It stays black, almost like you never actually died. Oh, if only, if only.
The world could be built on wishes and if onlys.
Your friends greet you and continue on to their next brainless adventure without another word on the subject. You sometimes wonder why you call them your friends.
You follow them aimlessly, an empty shell. Not quite human. A ghost of the boy you once were. This is what constant dying does to a soul. Every time it rips a tiny shred off, just a little, until slowly there is nothing left.
You are deteriorating right in front of your own eyes, and yet no one else seems to see it.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Your brother is drunk. You're trying to drive. He is distracting you. Shut up Kevin, you say. I can't fucking concentrate.
A patch of black ice makes you spin out and pretty soon oh look, you've hit a tree head-on.
Your brother miraculously survives.
If you hadn't met God so many times in one of your many trips upstairs, you wouldn't believe that the bastard even existed. Even still you don't like the thought of him, seeing as you seem to only live to be his toy to break over and over again until there are too many pieces and it's impossible to put you back together.
Like humpty dumpty, you've fallen off your damn wall too many times to count.
Sometimes you think that humans are more fragile than eggs. The cracks are always there. Usually they're only on the inside, but they're always there.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
You're drowning, lungs pierced by icy cold water. You're beyond caring. You don't bother struggling against the murky depths that reach up to swallow you whole. It's not like anyone else will notice, let alone care about your disappearance from the world of the living.
The light slowly fades from your vision and you think, with the water muffling all sound around you, that this is the most peaceful you've felt in years.
A hand wraps tightly around your wrist, pulling you back out of the water. You are coughing in the air, wondering why the hell anyone would bother saving you, the boy who was doomed from the start.
As the excess water pours out of your mouth you look into the face of your savior and you wonder just how much of your shredded soul is left.
And then you wonder just how easily someone can sew your soul back together. You think that maybe all the king's horses and all the king's men maybe should have tried a little harder and used some stronger glue.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Everything's going to be just fine.