Kill Me : Six Years Until I Die

Chapter 2: Memories Buried Away

Chapter 2: Memories Buried Away

"Shut your filthy mouth, ungrateful swine!" His harsh words resounded in the small dining room.

"Get the hell out, alcoholic." She spit back out, eyes slit now.

"No way, this is my house."

"You're a bad influence."

"Haha, and you're not? Funniest damn thing I've ever heard." He laughed mockingly.

"Saro, go to your room, right now."

"Yes ma'am. Goodnight, sir."

_______

He frowned, and wiped fresh blood off of his face. He bandaged his cuts, and rubbed his appearing bruises.

Before he knew what was happening, he let out a choked sob. Grabbing his pocket knife, and only present, he stared at it harshly.

Weapons should not of been made to hurt others... Or should they have? He didn't know anymore.

Lightly, he slid his forefinger on the blade, wincing slightly at the resistance. He soon saw his crimson blood form over the small cut and looked at it curiously. It was not as watery as he thought it was. Maybe it was because when he bled it mixed with his tears.

He retracted the knife, and threw it at the dresser table. Maybe weapons were made to hurt people that needed to be hurt.

He fell asleep with that thought bubbling in his mind.

_______

He cracked his eyes open, rheum flaking off of his eyelids. After he rubbed his eyes, he looked around. He was still situated in his room, which consisted of a bed, dresser, and beer bottles.

He felt an intense pain in his back, and realized he laid on a glass shard. He sighed, and slowly pulled it out, holding back screams of pain. Blood dripped onto the concrete floor, contributing to the dried blood already there. Grabbing a plastic bag, he applied pressure to the new wound that decorated his body.

He inhaled sharply, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Saro!" His eyes widened, and he jerked towards the now open door where his mother stood, "Such a disgrace, be more careful."

He nodded, biting back a remark. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now go ready for your first day of third grade. Make sure to cover those ugly marks." She giggled, taking a swig of her beer.

After she shut the door, he let a few tears slip out. Wiping them away, he stood up, ignoring the searing pain.

"It's my fault." He whispered to himself, tracing the wounds with his fingers.

"It's all my fault." He chanted this mantra while he changed unwillingly.

It was still warm out, but he pulled a ragged long sleeved shirt on, with long skinny trousers and a giant sweater, that was plain blue. "All my... Fault."

_______

He walked to the schoolhouse, ignoring the unwanted stares he received. He knew he only went to school so his parents looked like good people. He bit his lip, and tasted the familiar metallic blood. He laughed slightly. Was his whole life going to revolve around this sickening blood?

Probably.

He frowned inwardly, and stared at the ground. That is, until he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He froze up, scared to turn and see... him.