Oneshots

onimikeler: Notes

Onimikeler oneshot:

Notes

Plot: Tyler finds some old papers

-...-

He was 22 years old.

He was a 22 year old man, sitting alone in his dull house, which he didn't properly own, in a dark room, sad. Well, depressed. He was at the kitchen table, in the seat at the far end of the table. He didn't buy the large table. It would have been stupid for a man planning to live alone to buy a table that could probably seat five or six. One of the chairs that went with it was broken. The table came with the house. The chairs he was given by his neighbor, an old woman who had nowhere else to take them.

The man stared down at the notebook papers that were on the table in front of him, and the pen he'd just put down. He was shaking, and he was sobbing. He wrote down all of his feelings, he addressed all that he could think of. It was a recording of him and his personal thoughts, his mental struggles. There were not many people who would care about what it had to say. Maybe the nice old women, or his friend that lived in an apartment complex across town, but that was it.

The letters were mainly for them.

The man stood up and walked across the house, to his bedroom, with his hands shaking. He walked with them in his pockets to try to control them. He closed the door to his room. He walked into the bathroom, and avoided looking at the mirror.

He wasn't calm. He wasn't okay. He had tears blurring his vision and his heart was pounding in his chest and he was a complete mess. Everything was a mess. His arms hurt, no his legs hurt, no it was his head. No, it was everything. Or maybe not. He was thinking about everything at once, everything he had written about, everything that he'd felt, everything that he'd gone through.

Yeah, he was going to do this.

He wasn't sure how many of those pills he swallowed, he nearly choked on them downing them. He took a lot of them, enough to be sure it'd get the job done.

He took a drink of water before looking into the mirror.

There was no turning back.

He was ready to die.

-...-

"You know, you could always spend a day cleaning the shit hole that is our room." Tyler said, picking up around their bedroom.

Onity stood nearby, taking out and folding the clothes in the drawers. "The fact that I don't have a job doesn't mean I'm not busy. I've found quite a friendship with Ms.View helping her sort donations."

"Ms. View doesn't need your help 24/7. Our room does. God, it fucking smells in here." Tyler frowned. "I don't think this house has ever been fucking cleaned."

"You've only noticed it now?" Onity asked.

"I'm only complaining about it now."

"Now that you have to clean it?"

"U-huh."

"You seem like the kind of person who didn't clean his room and just Febrezed the entire thing." Onity smiled.

Tyler, who'd had some dirty laundry in his arms, turned and glared at Onity. Onity looked over and his smiled grew.

"I'm right!"

"Shuut the fuck up." Tyler walked over to the laundry basket near the door.

"I bet Amy loved to walk into your room and face a heavy smell of fresh pressed apple or lemon or something like that."