Song Fables

Narrative 2

TW : Self harm

All it took was a single workout. Only one.

His scar had been ripped apart, reopened, and blood was gushing everywhere from out of him. The pain was unbearable, it hurt just as much as when he had gotten the wound in the first place.

Carmine had dragged himself into his room as soon as he felt his skin tearing, this had happened before. He knew what he had to do, but dreaded it. Carmine sat on his floor, leaning against the side of his bed near his night stand. He held his shirt that was now soaked in red; he made sure to keep putting pressure on the wound. The lightheadedness from all of the blood loss had gotten to him. Carmine struggled to focus, even more than usual. He knew he needed to act fast.

Every single time he tried to move, a lightning strike of pain leapt through his entire body, spreading across him. It had pulsed; like waves on the ocean floor. The pain wasn't the only thing that reminded him of the ocean, though; the entire carpeted floor was soaking up blood, now drenched in it, leaving a giant red stain. Some muscle tissue had also been ripped apart, now scattered onto the ground. It was absolutely disgusting.

Slowly, he painstakingly pulled out a drawer on his nightstand and reached into it, moving all of the knick-knacks around until he took out a lighter.

He had full body shakes as the lighter lit, a small flame faltering with his breath. As he closed his eyes, Carmine brought the flame to his scar. When the flame licked his wax, burning it intensely, he desperately tried to not cry out in pain. It was unimaginable, and white hot. But of course, he didn't stop. He never stopped.

His wax started melting over itself, forming a seal over his open wound. It bubbled and made tears well up in his eyes. Agonizing was only one of a million words to describe how much pain he was in.

But as soon as he had started, his scar had sealed completely, leaving nothing but a fragile boy sitting in a pool of his own blood, alone. The dark atmosphere only added to this. He stared at the flame with a sudden and intense urge; one that had driven him to do terrible things before. One that had driven his life into chaos and anguish. 

And the worst part about it is the fact that all of it was his own fault. Every person he hurt had felt this pain, every single person he interacted with, for that matter. His eyes shut tight as the fire danced closer and closer to his stomach, now away from his scar. Carmine's hand moved slowly as blisters and burn marks appeared on his skin, self induced.

But he didn't stop. He wanted control over something, anything in his life.

And this was it.