The Unblinded Prophet

You Never Know Until You Try

It was the middle of the night. Everything was deafeningly quiet, and unnaturally cold. Mal curled up on his side, pulling the sheets up over his head. He couldn't sleep. He never could these days. For some reason it just seemed absolutely impossible. Like trying to hold your breath until you died. You tried over and over, but the most you could manage was a light headed feeling before finally giving up.

That's how Mal felt, light headed but unable to pass out. He slowly sat up in bed, kicking the covers aside. He shuddered but grit his teeth and dealt with the cold. He liked the way it felt in a sort of twisted way. At least he was feeling.

Casually, as though this was what every person did in the middle of the night, he reached over and opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out a knife. He sort of just swung it around, not intending to do a thing with it. Sometimes he just liked to hold it and feel like he had a choice. Cut himself or not cut himself.

Just a couple shallow ones.

"Shut up Allev," Mal growled.

Why doesn't my opinion matter to you?

"You want me to hurt myself. You aren't giving your opinion you're just being a dumbass."

That's really hurtful Obasjja.

"You know what else is hurtful? Cutting your arms."

You do it sometimes...Why not do it now?

Mal didn't reply, instead he flung the knife across the room and then flinched as it collided with one of the pictures on his wall, sending it crashing to the floor in a heap of paper, wood and glass. It was an old family photo, back when his mother and father were still alive and Notrine and Mal were no taller than their father's waist. Mal would've liked to say things had been happier back then, but that would be a lie.

It took Mal a moment to realize he was kneeling among the shards, and that he was bleeding onto the floor. Carefully he pulled the glass out of his legs and felt saddened by the fact that he didn't feel any of it.

Maybe you'll feel the knife.

"I'm numb, Al. We both know that. Nothing is gonna make me feel."

You never know until you try.

Mal stood up, and glanced at his balcony. Soft rays of hell-light were trickling in through the large glass doors. He walked over and pushed them open, and the warm night air from outside rushed in. But despite this, Mal still felt freezing cold.

Slowly he stepped out onto the balcony and sat on the railing that surrounded it. He let his feet dangle over the entire city below and watched as some blood slithered down his legs and down into the void below. What would it feel like to fall that far? What if he just threw himself off? Would he die? Would he even feel it?

Only one way to know.

Mal slowly leaned forward, his hands still gripping the railing. He let his body dangle, leaving his hands to be the only two things preventing him from plummeting to a maybe-death.

Just let go.

"No."

Mal pulled himself back up and walked back into his room, slamming the balcony doors shut.