Soul Eater One Shots

Better Off Dead; Narrator POV

Narrator POV

It was erie, the silence that befell your lonely home. The darkness of the seemingly starless sky seeped in through the windows. A broken chuckle echoed throughout the small room you had curled up in. Throat burning, vision blurred, everything you did felt hopeless. It was almost too much.

Maybe they were right, those quiet little voices inside your head. Every time their gentle words barred your thoughts, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper into nothingness. It felt like all your emotions had begun to fade like the pages of an old book, becoming musty and stale.

Heaving a sigh, you pulled your legs tighter, as if trying to curl up and get away from dark edges of your own mind. Every second the voices seemed to get louder, until they were unbearable.

You ran a shaky hand down your salty cheeks and through your matted hair. A small breath escaped your lips as you looked up, staring at your plain white ceiling.

"Maybe I'm better off dead. If I was, would it finally be enough, to shut out all these voices inside my head?"

Your cracked, broken words went unheard. No one was listening, you were alone here.

Maybe the voices would stop. Maybe the emotions you hated so much would fade away. Maybe everyone would a little better off.

Kid certainly would. He had never told you you were beautiful, never said he loved you, never whispered sweet nothings in your ear, but you had always believed actions spoke louder than words. That's why it hurt so much when you had caught him, going out with some other girl, there was no regret in his eyes. It felt like some cliche love story, like you were supposed to be hurt, until he came swooping in and saved you from yourself, apologizing and saying how much he loves you, and only you.

But life was never so black and white. Kid wasn't going to save you. If you couldn't save yourself, no one would.

You laughed bitterly, eyes puffy and red. Would he miss you? Would he notice you were gone? You supposed it didn't matter, even if he did it would be too late.

It was obvious, when you had looked from Kid to the girl beside him, her lipstick stain bright and fresh on his pale skin, that you weren't enough. You had tried so hard, but clearly you had never been good enough for him.

Sitting alone with your thoughts, you couldn't help but notice that you did not belong here. The only thing that seemed to make you happy had been a lie, the pieces that had been fixing themselves slowly had been shattered in seconds.

Maybe he would realize his mistake, maybe when he saw the picture of your corpse in the newspaper labeled "Local Suicide" he'd see what he had done.

Maybe he would miss you when you were gone.