Lockdown (Picture Day book 2; an II fanfic)

Silence Is Golden

(Chapter written by Horrorluv08!)

(Warning: This chapter contains extremely sensitive topics, please do not read this chapter if you are easily disturbed by this or if you are in a bad mental state.)

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Trophy could feel the cold ground against his arms. He had goosebumps all over his body, and shocks of cold shot through his body. He was freezing, maybe to death, and he knew it. Of course, it was just his luck. He had to be a thermal conductor, didn't he? He would get colder than everyone else and he knew it.

He was so cold. Cold, hungry, tired, and downright miserable. It wasn't fair. The only people who might feel half as cold as him would be Knife and Nickel. Even if, Knife had a plastic handle. Maybe not plastic, actually, but...it wasn't metal. Nickel was smaller, and plus, he had Baseball or Balloon to cling onto if he got too cold. Trophy, though. Who would be there for him? Soap? No, he wouldn't bother Soap with his pathetic little problems. She had been kidnapped. He was just cold.

Stop complaining. Stop being so pathetic. You're so pathetic.

Trophy rolled over, wrapping his arms around the front of his body. He breathed steadily out, the rest of his body shivering. He could have sworn he saw his own breathing due to being so cold, but...that was unrealistic. Test Tube would have told him that, too.

He was stupid AND pathetic.

Lifting himself up from laying, Trophy stared at his hands. He was shaking unbelievably badly. He just wanted to end it now. End the cold, end...

He looked up at the storage closet. He was going to die here. He was going to die just like Test Tube did, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would be killed on the spot, and who would care? Nobody. Nobody would care because of how badly he treated them. They'd watch him die and they would only think, "Oh no! We saw someone die!" or "Oh no! Another person down!" He was worthless to everybody around. Why was he even a Trophy? He would never win. Not in life. Not in death.

Death. He was so scared of death and yet...almost longed for it. Was he stupid for thinking that? He never thought about it before, but...he was going to die in this nasty school gym, and hated anticipating the day when he would suffer through it. Maybe if he just...got it done now, he would...

He would be brave again.

Trophy stood up, stumbling a bit from being so tired, but nonetheless managing to keep his balance. He was so tired. Wasn't death just called eternal sleeping? Maybe that's what he needed.

WIth a slow but surely step, he tiptoed into the storage closet, pulling himself up to see what he could find. He reached around, suddenly finding a notebook. He checked through it, only finding a doodle of...eh...he would rather not look at that. He tore the page out, crumpling it up before tossing it aside. He scanned the room a bit longer to find a box of pencils. He grabbed a good looking mechanical pencil, sitting himself down in the storage closet. His eyes had adjusted to the light now, so he was able to scribble out words on the paper. Pathetic, pathetic, words.

Don't be weak. As soon as you die you'll prove you aren't scared. Of anything. Not even death.

"Hey everybody. I'm sorry I did this but it needed to be done. I was going to die here. We're all going to die here. I don't know why I put up with seeing Paintbrush getting lit on fire, watching Balloon nearly die. Seeing Lightbulb suffer knowing Test Tube is gone, knowing Fan is gone, knowing sooner or later, Paintbrush will be gone too. I can't bear to see that and I refuse to put up with it any longer. I don't hate myself. For the most part. I just know I'm going to die anyway, and I hate waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting, I can't take it. I need to know when something is going to happen, I can't take the stress of knowing that I can't know. I needed to know, but I couldn't. Now, though? Now I can. I'm sorry. Soap, thank you for being there for me, through thick and thin. You're like an older sister to me, and I appreciate it. Cheesy, your jokes annoyed me, but they were comforting either way. Tissues–In general, I'm sorry for being so awful to you about your sickness. You really don't deserve that. It isn't your fault and I should have recognized that sooner. Knife. I did something I shouldn't have done. It was so stupid of me and I can't believe I made you put up with that. My camera is in my backpack, and the moment you get out of here, it's yours. You can delete the pictures I took, and start making new ones. New memories, from me, to you. Thanks for putting up with me. I'm ready to die, though, so don't be sad. I'll see you all on the other side."

Trophy put the pencil and notebook down, feeling hot tears slipping down his cheeks. Don't cry. Don't be a baby. He slid the notebook out of the room, leaving it right where everybody could see. He then rummaged around a bit more, finding...a jump rope. Yeah. Yeah, a jump rope could work. His eyes darted straight to the right, seeing a basketball under some shelves of random cleaning supplies. There. That would work. He exited the room, looking around to see what he could tie the jump rope onto. The basketball hoop caught his eye. The staff hadn't bothered to put it up, so it was right where Trophy could reach.

He hesitantly walked over, tossing the rope around the hoop and carefully tying a tight knot. He fumbled with the end of the jump rope, trying to recall from memory how to tie a...you know.

Finally, he managed to tie it just right, setting the basketball carefully on the ground. His heart rate picked up. No. You can't be a baby. You can't stop now. You can do it. He held onto the basketball net, carefully balancing on the basketball. His hands were trembling, but now it wasn't from the cold. He put the rope around his head, before sighing. He took it for granted how much he had. He had many. A house. He even had people who...at least put up with him. But it was his time to go, he knew it. This idea couldn't be put aside, he had to do it now.

He could only mumble a few things under his breath. He had always wondered what his last words would be if the time came, but now he knew what he needed to say. Or...whisper.

"Thank you. Thank you Soap, Cheesy, Tissues, and Knife. For making me a better person."

With that his eyes darted downwards onto the basketball he was balancing on. Just kick it out from underneath you and you'll be gone. It's so easy, yet it took so much courage.

Trophy wasn't pathetic. Or stupid. Not anymore.

To himself. He was brave.

He took one of his feet away from the basketball, closing his eyes tightly. Then he swung his foot forward to kick it away.

He missed. Of course he did. Don't chicken out now. Try again. Do it again. You can do it.

He brought his foot back once more, taking a deep breath in. He knew this time he wouldn't miss, and he knew this would be the last thing he saw. He smiled. The last thing he would see was all his friends. Together.

He swung his foot forward.

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(Horror I actually almost cried while reading through this the first time. Sobs screams cries. Thank you to horror for this chapter!)