I Was Your Child's Killer

Cherry Chocolate Head

I'm pushed against the rail right against a giant mountain with a dangerously high fall. Instant death with one little push.

The one pushing me against the railing, is me.

Exactly me, dark brown skin, curly dark brown hair, green eyes.

She sounds like me. She's the voice in my head. Most people get multiple voices when they aren't mentally stable, like myself. But I for some odd reason only have one person against me. One person that has always found a way to drag me down and torture me in the cruelest of ways.

Myself.

She leans close to me whispering in my ear. I can't understand what she whispered, but before I could react, I felt a crack in my spine as she pushed me through the rail and I was now falling a straight fall into the darkness of whatever lies along this mountain.

Before I could scream, I am woken up by my mother.

"I've been calling you downstairs for the past five minutes or so, now hurry up and get ready!" She scolds.

"Sorry." I whisper.

'Im sorry for not being perfect.
I'm sorry for acting like this.
I'm sorry for not being honest.
I'm sorry for acting in fine.
I'm sorry for being around.
I'm sorry I'm the biggest failure.
I'm sorry for being alive.'
Is what I want to scream, shout, yell, whatever.

I rush into the shower and then dress myself in a striped blue and gray top with black leggings stopping at my knees. Then I put on my old worn out galaxy vans.

I run out the door hoping to make it to the bus on time. I'm fortunately able to board.

I sit on the first seat, the one nobody sits in because of the dead lizards that have been laying on the windowsill for years.

I pull out my phone plugging in my headphones while I open YouTube. I search for Christian Davis. He's a kid in my school.

This is probably the part wheee you think "Oo you two sound so cute together. This ship will sail!"

But unfortunately no it's not like that at all.
I mean not that I want to be with Christian - it's just that you know - im me and he's himself.

You get what I'm trying to say right?

I look at his uploads, he's able to rap well. He makes music that throws shade at kids from school who act 'cool' and say rude things to each other.

I love watching his content because it makes me feel better to know that someone else hates people like these.

I think Christian is very nice and confident. It's too bad I've never spoken to him once in my life. I think once I caught him accidentally staring at me. But he was surely just staring off into space.

Point is, I don't know him at all, but I watch him on the internet. I've never looked at his face. I'm way too much of a coward to do that! The sudden realization is like a punch to the stomach.

I have never seen any of the kids' faces at my school.

Yes I know their hair color and skin. But not their eyes, nose, mouth, head.

I'm such an idiot. I hate myself.

I then see a new video Christian uploaded just 6 minutes ago. Only 445 views.

I click on it and I am completely stunned by what I hear.

It's a rap on suicide.

His song is new so I don't know the lyrics from the top of my head, but the chorus went like this,

My head is falling apart as my brain explodes. The gun shoots of giving me the death penalty. I'm sorry for this guys. But it's a problem I have. I'm just too suicidal. Goodbye. Goodnight. Good day. Good sir. I'll see you in hell where my brain is scattered into tomorrow.

Wow. That's really dark.

Now I have thought of suicide a lot but this is so , unexpected? If that's the right word.

Christian. I'm so sorry you feel like this.

I feel a nudge on my stomach as I'm pushed off the bus, were at school. Yippee.

I walk in to the hall, opening the giant red-paned glass doors.
Immediately, I feel anxious. Panic attack hits right then and there.

My breath is short.
My heart is long and fast.
Sweat glides down every inch.
My face is burning red.

"HEY! Guys look! It's cherry chocolate head! Yay!"

If you don't understand my given nickname, it's offensive and racist.

I have black skin and my face is often red due to anxiety.

So the retarded fags that go here call me "cherry chocolate head" because I look like a cherry dipped in chocolate.

"Haha. That's a good one." I whisper, head down, hair covering my face as I walk quickly and steadily.

I simply hate it all.