Escape (A Crankgameplays / Markiplier Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

The burn of failure cooked every inch of my flesh slowly as I sat on the hard wooden chair in my dining room. The suffocating darkness of depression had quickly filled my lungs, slowly killing me from the inside out. I held back tears of weakness that were fighting so hard to run down my cheeks and beg for mercy. I looked down in shame as my mom ranted in front of me for three hours, telling me how much I had disappointed her.

I had just come home from school. I walked in and my mom immediately stopped me and sat me down. I put my bag next to me and just listened as she spoke. I felt like she was throwing daggers at my heart but kept missing and hit everything else around it. My head, my lungs, my arms, my throat; they were all hot and heavy and I was in so much pain. She just kept throwing knives until she hit my heart.

I knew why she was upset; I just didn't know why I hurt her so much. I didn't mean to get suspended. I was telling the truth and no one believed me. Why would they? I could never be trusted and everything was my fault anyways. No one ever believed me. They always found a way to make it my fault. I guess they blamed me because it was easy to do so. It could be that, or it could be because I just accepted the blame. Either way, I was always the one getting in trouble.

I blocked out most of what my mom was saying but I heard little bits here and there. It was the same thing every time. I'm a failure, I disappointed her, I need to change, try to be more like Eric; it was always the same rant, except for one thing. This one was different because afterwards, I was punished.

I was never punished by my mom before. I usually did that for her. I would pray to God asking for him to hurt me in some way, shape or form. I wanted to be hurt. I thought it was better for my mom to not have to deal with me. I asked God, and he delivered. I would be bullied at school or my friends would leave me. I was always in pain. I guess that is the reason I started to hate myself.

I was only eight when it first came to me. I had failed a test earlier that day and I was sent to detention for not paying attention in class. It was hard for me to listen to the teacher and I could never remember what they said if I did listen. My teacher, Mrs. Prows, had told me that I would never make it in life and that I was a burden. I went home and cried for hours because I was nobody. I was a stupid kid that should have never been born. I hated myself for the first time that day.

My classmates knew I was stupid and none of them ever wanted to hang out with me. I was always alone at lunch. Well, not completely. I had friends but they weren't real. I conjured them from my imagination. Alice was nice to me and she always had tea parties with me. Naomi liked to sing. She practiced singing with me and even taught me to draw. I didn't need anyone else and I didn't talk to anyone else, except Javier.

Javier was a real boy and a real bully. He was a big kid in fifth grade when I was in third grade. He liked to call me names and remind me of how stupid I was. Only once did he get physical with me. I would run away as fast as I could and that is when it would end but he decided to run after me one day. He caught me easily and turned me around. He made a fist with his hand and punched me right in the eye. Javier kneed me in the gut and dropped my breathless body on the ground. I watched him walk away as I forced my lungs to suck in the precious air I so desperately needed.

I can't say I didn't ask for it. I should have known standing up for myself would lead to bad things. So, from then on, whatever happened, I stayed quiet. I didn't object or state my opinion. I just accepted it.

There were some people who actually wanted to be me friends but they didn't stay for long. I was always that one friend that got replaced after a while. They would use me anyways. I did their dirty work in exchange for what I thought was someone who cared. I was never enough. Sometimes my "friends" would actually make fun of me themselves. It hurt, and I told them that, but they said they were joking. I began to believe them. I believed that I was dumb and everything was my fault and that I was boring.