Of Thousand Lives

Prologue

(NOTE: The prologue of the story has been added way later after I've written the story, due to suggestions from a friend. The perspective of the prologue may be different from the first chapters'.)

"Will you ever be useful even if you lived a thousand lives?". A question that Justice has heard a thousand times over, now used to ask himself as his body collapses onto the cushions of the couch. Another day of rejections, failures and misfortunes. To him, the only place he can call home is this wrecked apartment room.

His existence is a mistake. There's no other way to sugar coat it. These thoughts keep returning to his head as if they are recurring themes of his life. Tired and beat up by life, there he sits, thinking, "Why couldn't I be treated like a normal person? Do they really hate me that much? Where am I going with my life..?". He's scared for his own life and the dead ends he can imagine facing. His hands fidget with the TV's remote, turning the electronic on, looking to find something to ease his mind and keep these thoughts at bay even if momentarily. All there is on the TV is white static.. It seems like the antenna is broken again, but he doesn't feel like fixing it one bit. The boy lets out a disappointed sigh and places the remote control down, whilst keeping the TV on.

Without any comfort, the train of depressive thoughts forces his mind into a downward spiral. With each thought being more and more intrusive, overpowering even the obnoxious sound of the static of the TV. The crushing pressure of the voices in his mind and of every tragedy he can remember that keeps on replaying rests upon his weary soul. Until.. it finally caught up to him, the thought of seeking the comfort of death. This was it, the final straw.

Looking at the ungodly amount of drugs he is about to poison himself with, as well as the cruel world behind his back. He contemplates his final decision... Is there really anything left to lose? His ears are drowned in the silence of his apartment room with the occasional white static lingering from the speakers of the television. The sound of nothingness perfectly answered his question. No one, nothing, besides a tragedy to be ended. He closes his eyes and gulps down all of the pills that were present in his hand alongside a bit of water to help it go down and digest. This was more than needed to kill him, he's sure.

A melancholy feeling settles like a fine blanket on his mind. He places the empty glass down and slowly stumbles towards the couch, where it would be his deathbed. He fought a good battle, but maybe fate didn't accept his trials and tribulations. He stares aimlessly into the ceiling of his room, his brain trying to ooze out its last thoughts before total organ failure. Maybe, just maybe, he will lead a better life when the time comes. Dying alone is a horrifying thought on its own, but the implication that Death is with him somewhat calms his weary soul. He clenches his hands, feeling a strange sensation going on in his organs. It must be the chemicals at work already.

The final seconds of his life are slowly burning away. He feels at ease, for he has found an escape from this world, though costly. It all blacks out for the boy, for his soul has become one with the Song.