Euthanasia (Kellic)

8: The Girl

I Didn't Like Her; I Knew That From The Moment I Saw Her. It Was Biased, But I'm Narcissistic Enough To Trust My First Impressions.

Today was already being far from tolerable. Initially, I had forgotten my maths textbook and let's say my teacher wasn't exactly very happy with me; I don't think he believes in the existence of mistakes - narrow-minded bastard, but then again that was practically in the required criteria for teaching staff nowadays - must be able to severely impose students on a day to day basis.

Of course then, my lunch got kicked onto the floor, leaving me to flee to the toilets before they decided that it'd be good to repeat their previous choice of action, but with my face this time - an idea I really wasn't that keen on, but then again the school bullies weren't exactly the epitome kindness.

Now, I'm stood hopelessly out the school gates with a stubborn car that refuses to fucking start, rain pelting down on my already goose bump littered skin and no other means of getting home, so as you can guess, my current situation was far from desirable. My whole life was far from desirable, so really today was just following suit, following orders from a subconsciously sadistic part of my brain that had been hidden and tucked away for far too long.

I slumped down against the painted aluminium. "Fuck this, fuck everyone." I found myself muttering to no one in particular; maybe I was just awaking the hungry beast of insanity that slept far too badly inside of me.

This beast however, he always chose to wake up at precisely the most inconvenient times. I didn't have a fucking clue as how I'd tackle the forty minute trek through derelict woodland and god knows what else home and then my mother wouldn't be happy that I'd return late, hypothermic and without my car. Some prick would probably steal it whilst I was gone as well. Why anyone would want a broken car, I don't know, but people are just pricks, okay? That seems to be the only thing I can be sure of these days - that people are going to be worth hating, and people are going to get their worth out relentlessly hating me.

So here I am, my freezing fresh pressed up against the even colder metal chassis of my long dead vehicle, I think I can still hear the exhaust humming, but it's just the pelting of red against concrete. The weather didn't seem to be getting any better at all, the rain only growing in velocity and dropping drastically in temperature. I feel like I'm eternally stuck here, that I'll die of hypothermia soon, the cold metal body of my deceased and overall despised vehicle being the only sensation I'll know as the lights blur out and the sounds washes out my ears, and the feeling buzzes out until I'm numb with nothingness - it'll be the nothingness that'll kill me in the end, the cold was hardly a worthy opponent.

I didn't know why I was still here, maybe I was just too scared to face it out there; the harsh winds, the rain that had recently become hail and those storm clouds that loomed over the horizon, almost taunting me from fluffy water crystal eyes that bared deadly gazes. The world certainly didn't seem friendly and my dead car sheltered me slightly from the conditions out there, leaving me perfectly content to just lay here forever. I even considered falling asleep with my cheek pressed against the ice cold chassis. If I simply got over the temperature, then things wouldn't be quite that bad.

But it would be that, it would be worse, it would be unconventionally hellish in a gut clenchingly systematic manner. I just wanted to put that off for now, allowing the oblivion to take over, and let myself be foolish, because we're all fools, really. We're just far too arrogant to admit it, but really, we're nothing more than a bunch of arrogant fools who discovered money and the greed that came with it, simply stepping aside and letting the world rot away.

I too was an arrogant fool, but I was an arrogant fool who was ready to die, whether I'd get into heaven would be uncertain, but I'm willing to take the risk.