Euthanasia (Kellic)

20: The Decision

He Blew His Brains Out Into The Bay, In The States Of Mind It's My Own Private Suicide

Unfortunately, I still wasn't quite dead yet. The thought itself was entirely depressing and was slowly tearing away at my life like it was some sort of poorly constructed jenga tower matched with the clumsiness of a young child.

Except today I didn't wake up, because I never went to sleep; I just took my friends and left. I crept downstairs at midnight and left the house entirely silently; the whole process was far too easy in fact and I think maybe it was due to the fact that I was far too accomplished in the art of staying unnoticed and irrelevant.

I didn't quite know where I was going amidst the danger of a bustling city at midnight, clad in a pair of skinny jeans with unintentional holes near the knees and an oversized hoodie that didn't even smell like it was mine. It had to be mine though, because where else would it come from? It wasn't like I had many friends- or now, any friends at all.

I clutched my fingers tightly around the sharp slice of metal in my pocket, thinking maybe I'd have to use it as a weapon in case anyone approached me, because I didn't live in the kin o place it was safe to be out alone at this time of night, but then again, nowadays, nobody did.

I made my way out of the city towards the bay and perched myself dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, yet in my case not quite close enough.

I didn't think I intended to jump tonight, but I'd have to see how things turned out, but right in this moment I was far too content with watching the moonlight reflect upon the calm tide as it lapped in and out of the bay.

The sky was clear tonight, illuminating the bay enough for me to not even bother wasting my cell phone's battery by setting it to torch mode, not that I even intended to regardless.

It was just nice to be here, on the outskirts of nowhere, watching the nothingness and contemplating running away and living like some sort of mad man here, away from everyone, away from society. I think I'd like that.

I'd like to clear my head, to clear my life from everything and everyone, because I'd like to just be forgotten, for no one to even notice I was gone, but things just couldn't quite work out like that anymore, simply all due to Vic Fuentes and his decision to get far too involved with my life.

And of course the decision of my heart to get far too involved with him. Wouldn't it just be easier if I ripped my heart out entirely; emotions are a hassle that's for sure, and maybe feeling empty would be the perfect cure. The blood loss, heart failure, and eventual death were all minor side effects that I was more than prepared to experience, and in the case of the latter, it was one I welcomed.

And then the first cut was made; the first press of cold metal against my skin was carried out in a perfect motion and I spilled red everywhere, but I didn't care. I was pretty sure I hit far too close to vein, but I didn't care at all - I couldn't care, and in fact if I was going to do anything, I was going to fucking celebrate, because right here, right now I was doing the whole fucking world a favour, and maybe, maybe I should just finish off the job.

I took another slice against white porcelain moonlit flesh with the now red metal, relaxing into the familiar sensation of writhing pain spreading down my arm and slowly ebbing out into a calm that meant far too little altogether, so then I made another one; for the same sensation, because this was an addiction and it was too good entirely.

And then I made another.

And another.

And then I had five.

And then I had ten.

And then fifteen.

And now twenty.