Light Behind The Dark

7

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Chris lay on his bed, his eyes wide open. No matter how much he tried, he could not invite sleep to consume him.

He stirred and tossed in bed, shivering and clutched a pillow to his chest. But nothing seemed to help him sleep. Finally giving up, he walked towards the only other furniture in his room other than his bed, his study.

There, engraved on the wood of his study was the child helpline number he knew but never actually put into use. He stared at it for a while but shook his head, knowing that nothing can ever fix him. Knowing that he's already far too gone, too broken to be fixed.

Before today, he could at least feel the pain his dad used to cause. He could at least feel the needles his dad used to pierce into his skin just for sadistic joy. He used to feel the whips he was being attacked with. He used to feel the words pierce his heart. He used to understand and decipher what was going around him. 

He could at least recognize himself. 

But now, Chris doesn't even know what he's feeling. Is he feeling pain? Is he feeling sore? Dirty? Unclean? Alone? Sad?

All he could now sense is the numbness. He doesn't even know if his heart is beating.

How can he live like this?

He's finally made up his mind. He, for once, knows what to do.

Chris thinks he's tired.

He's tired of trying to stay alive.

He's tired of hoping that things could change.

He's tired of coping.

He's tired of breathing.

He's tired of living.

He's tired of existing.

He's done.

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