☁︎ 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 » 𝖬𝖢𝖸𝖳 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌 ☁︎

ғᴀᴛᴀʟ ᴍɪxᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴅᴏsᴀɢᴇ (ᴡɪʟʙᴜʀ sᴏᴏᴛ)

⌫ 

I put my hand up in History, requesting to leave the classroom. I know precisely what it is that I am going to do.

I get into the bathroom through a creaky door, my shoes click on the grey tiles.
The sound echoes, and I become aware of how truly alone I am, not only in this wretched high school bathroom, but also life... it's equivalent.

This fact doesn't stop my heart racing.

'Am I scared? No, merely anticipating the event that was always inevitable.' 

That is what I tell myself. 

I breathe in a sharp breath between my teeth, knowing the cut is coming.
Precise, like a surgeon's incision...

But a surgeon saves lives, and I ruin them.
My very existence is malpractice.

I feel the razor split my skin.
'This is the last time', I think.
For once, I am honest. 

I ensure the stall I am in is fully locked.
And I cut.. my wrists, arms, thighs, stomach, neck and face. 
I am covered in the ghastly smell of blood.

Red rivers run along the surface of a dying planet.

I know I'm meant to mentally replay all of my life's mistakes while I do this, but my mind grows numb.

For me, there's no correlation between cutting and crying.
Cutting means relief, crying means regret.
I've lost the ability to regret... 

That's how I'm certain I won't get a second chance.

I have been gone for far too long, and I don't want any interruptions. Ironically, the bell rings.

I took it as a taunt. 

A pull a bottle out from my pocket. A month long collection of various pills lay within. 

Guaranteed, one fatal mixture or a deadly dosage. 

I shoved them down my throat, not allowing myself to gag.

People enter and exit the bathroom as classes move around for lesson changes. 
They are oblivious to what is happening behind the closed door of this graffitied stall. 

My blood is softly dripping, like water from a broken tap (/faucet) that no one bothered to fix. 
Maybe they'll replace the tap.

I hope he adopts someone else when I'm gone. Someone who isn't a complete failure; a disappointment to his father and brothers.

Somebody who deserves them as a family. 

The medication suddenly hits me, knocking the air out of my lungs. My stomach begins to ache and my visions blurs at the edges. The shadows in the stall begin to form indescribable colours of that which I have never seen before. 

My death is taking longer to arrive than I anticipated, and I begin to worry that I didn't take enough to finish this. 

The twisting feeling in my torso says otherwise.

I hear amplified chattering outside the door, which annoyingly prevents me from falling asleep. I attempt to ignore the echoing voices, but my own name forces me awake despite my distorted hearing. 

They're calling for me.

Are they demons, rising from the underworld to deliver me down into the fiery chasms.. to punish me for all the evil I have committed?

Or are they the pitiful angels, who feel obligated to bring the poor suffering child to paradise, no matter how undeserving? 

Or are they people, interrupting what could've been eternal darkness and silence?

Nothingness... what neither heaven nor hell could offer. 
Something I have grown accustomed to. 
Comfortable. 

They discuss a closed door. 
They learn that it has been locked for quite a while, the occupant unresponsive. 

The cogs turn in my hazy brain, and I realise that I am the unknown subject of their discussion. 

They plan on kicking the door down. 

I attempt to move in preparation of the incoming force...  However, my limbs does not move as my mind does; instead I lie on the ground in a limp, unmoving heap. 

The thumping on the wooden door reverberates through the walls and floortiles. 

Light floods in from the outside world, and for a moment I think it's an illusion. 
And if for a second I think I've escaped the sharp claws of life, I am pull back. 

Yelling awakes me from my trance, and my eyes meet blue. I can see the burning defiance within those eyes. I can also see their terror. 

"I'm not leaving him!", I hear them yell. "He's my fucking brother!"

"Wilbur! Wilbur, can you hear me!?"
They sound frantic, and desperate. 

"Don't fucking touch me, that's my brother! Let me go, stop it!"
I hear struggling, but the owner of that stubborn voice is dragged away, and it fades into the distance. 

My body is being tossed about like a ragdoll; my arms sting as the prod and poke me. I feel motion, and sense a change of scenery, now seeing a large blanket of blue above me.

My head lolls to the side and I notice a crowd has formed. 
The horror and disgust that simultaneously flashes across their features is almost humorous to me.

It comforts me to know that I've done well enough. 

I am hurried into an ambulance, a familiar pink-haired boy follows not too far behind. He sits besides me as the vehicle rushes down the street, sirens blaring. 

He runs his hands through my sweaty hair, and grabs hold of my shaky, numb hands as I shiver. I feel myself relax, promptly falling into the nothingness..

.. in peace. 

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WC: 893

I tried to do something new and different this chapter, I hope it turned out okay because I am too lazy to edit it..

Typical me, milking the dark thought and urge I had in English for not one but TWO chapters in an mcyt angst book.

Might make a Part 2 for this one, so vote if you'd like to see it! It will have a happy ending, unlike my other one :]