dum spiro, spero

chapter 1

Suicide is a complex thing, a complex feeling. A complex string of thoughts. Suicide shouldn't cross anyones mind. Anyone who's normal that is.

Atsushi Nakajima was not normal.

He was the boy at his orphanage who's only use was for taking punishments. The boy who's parents abandoned him for being a burden on them. The boy who lay in the basement, bleeding out onto the stone floor, wondering what it would feel like to drag a sharp blade over his throat.

Atsushi Nakajima was also the boy who was standing in his bathroom, a wide variety of multicolour pills sitting in his palm. The colours were inviting, encouraging and hypnotising Atsushi to swallow them. Deep gashes adorned his shaking arms, blood dripping fiercely from the wounds onto the linoleum floor beneath him. Lines of different length, depth and colours covered his body, showing the attempts he had taken to cut himself free of this cage of a body that belonged to him. With one flick of his wrist and a gulp, he could be dead, finally doing something good for the world.

And he did.

He placed the psychedelic pills in his mouth, swallowing harshly. the pills were welcomed down his throat, deathly pooling in his stomach. He covered his mouth with his hand, coughing harshly into his palm. He could hear faint noises from the creaking of his apartment, but he narrowed it down to his mind ecstatically buzzing at the idea of his painful life finally reaching its end. He had not written a note. Why would he? No one in his life would notice if he died, let alone show an ounce of care.

Atsushi's knees buckled, unable to support the weight of his upper half. He collapsed to the floor, his body shaking all over. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he raised a hand to wipe it away, but it formed as quickly as it had the first time. His heart was racing, causing ripples of nausea, excitement and pain to rush through his body. His sight slipped in and out of blurred states, and he leaned his head against the wall of the bathroom. He felt as if he was going to throw up, but he didn't care. He waited for the pills to work, his eyes drooping. His heart was beating through his eardrums, pounding his head harshly as a punishment for his actions.

After what felt like years to the boy, he felt his body going numb and his conscious slipping from his grasp. The blood from his arms and wrists coated his clothes and the floor.

He managed to make out the shape of two shoes running towards him as the last bit of awareness drained from his veins.