Hit that High

O Happy Dagger

(Still In the flashback)

The first thing I felt when I slipped back into the living world, was a wet sensation crawling up my neck. The smell of wretched iron. Blood. Before I knew it, my eyes were open. I was panicking, but I couldn't move. Now I was really freaked out. I willed myself all I could to get up, and pained shot through my right arm, the one I had landed on. I gasped in exasperation, and glanced down at it.

So that's where the blood is coming from.

I took note of the echo, it was right. An enormous gash was slowly pulsing blood. It was darker than I would have thought, like a red wine. I was already freaked out at that series of dreams I had. I was getting blood all over the carpet. My dad's new carpet, he was gonna kill me. You have a real knack for not having your priorities straight.

"B-but it was a nice carpet," I defended, out loud, in the empty room. I had lost my shit.

White-hot pain pulsed through my body again, starting from my arm, it felt almost crippling. I can't stay here, I thought. At any minute she would be back, and she actually might kill me this time. It would be nice, wouldn't it. To say goodbye to pain. To the coldness of the world. You might finally find something that would make you happy, the voice reasoned. I hummed a response, thinking about how nice it would be to float away from here. From this emptiness that I was so afraid of.

No. It was wrong. I'm here for a reason. And right now my reason was simple. Survive.

I looked around the room. It was our foyer, and there were pieces of the banister all over me and the floor. I fell on a credenza that was beneath the stairs. The one my parents kept a porcelain vase on. Now I know how I got that cut on the arm. I looked around the rest of the room. No one was here, but beyond the arch, I could see flashing lights, the TV must have been on. Couldn't hear anything over the static in my head, just muffled sounds. Gotta get out of here. The voice, my brain that was usually so shitty to me, was calling the shots. And I was listening.

Biting the bullet, I tried to pick myself up. I grunted out in pain when I tried to stand, it was too much, I couldn't do it. It can't end like this, I thought to myself, I won't just die and let them forget about me. No, I won't give them the satisfaction. Spite has never been my friend before, but it would be today.

I yanked myself up with strength that I frankly didn't have, my mind was focused only on one thing. Get out. I stumble haphazardly over to the door. Opened it with little struggle, thankfully. Everything had become a struggle recently, glad my ability to open a door wasn't on that list. The verandah was mostly shielded from the rain, but I could just stay on the verandah and wait to die. I knew where to go. There was a cove two blocks down, on the beach, where me and my friends smoked weed and drank.

Before I even decided to go, my feet were moving. I didn't know the way to the cove, but I knew I could get there by walking towards the Sky Tower on the other side of the bay. I got off of the street and started walking down a small cliff face. The rain was awful and cold, but it was helping to wash off the blood that was caking on my arm. It should have been a thirty second walk if it were any other day, or any other dog. But the rain along with the lightheadedness that came with acute blood loss made the measly walk turn into an arduous journey. I eventually made it to the cove. There were a couple of stumps under a sheltered part, covered by ivy and trees. I shambled clear of the rain, still clutching my arm, and sat down at the nearest stump, and leaned back.

Only to fall immediately off the back. Right, stumps, no backrests. Can't even sit down right, can you, ya fuck up. It would be better if you were dead. No more pain, no crying. No more of your pathetic, sad little life. I need a beer, now. I get back up, walk behind a tree, and pull out a dirt smeared cooler. I start to rummage around in it a bit. Custard left it here for just this reason. It's mostly empty, save for a couple six-packs and some bottles. I don't remember the last time he put ice in the cooler. Not that it mattered, it was cheap shit anyways, it would last forever if you left it. I go to pull a bottle out with my left hand, the uninjured one. It feels cool in my hand. I pop the cap against the edge of the cooler and start to down it. Usually, I at least try to savor the taste, not this time.