Euthanasia (Kellic)

35: The Voice

I Was Thinking About Leaving Again It All Depends, Are We Just Friends?

Recently it had been harder than ever. Harder than ever to keep my simple thoughts in line. Harder than ever to feign my sanity for the sake of others, the sake of myself having been long lost along with my friends and any hope I had of going to bed and never waking up.

That would just be so easy though, so peaceful. I'd love to die in my sleep, but I wouldn't want to wait the many years it'd take for me to be old and worn down enough for my body just to fade away as I slept. I felt worn down inside already, so perhaps there's hope still, but I think if anything's going to die inside me as I barely notice, it's going to be my mind, my conscious, all that's left of me.

It's funny to think that when I was young I was scared of dying, almost. I had always thought it something to dread, something to fear, almost like a nightmare, but now it seems almost like a dream.

And perhaps the knowledge of that fact should sicken me a little more than it does, because how the world has fucked me up is unbelievable, but of course nothing but expected. It's never anything more than expected. High school is a cruel world, and one not even Vic Fuentes can truly save me from.

I've decided that now I'm going to let him try, because somehow it makes him happy, and I don't want anything more from him than a smile. I really don't understand him at times - it's obvious that I'm a lost cause and perhaps it's just the time ticking down until it's really over. Perhaps I'm just a time bomb ticking away slowly until the inevitable end.

But I'm not quite that patient and I really never was.

I hate to think about how it all started, I hate to even think or remember a time when my mind wasn't crushed by this absolute fucking mess and I hate to think of a time when I was complacent in the nothingness of life.

I just can't take the fact that everything seems so utterly fucking pointless. It's horrible, because no matter what happens, no matter how much anyone can make me smile, I have this thought at the back of my head pulling me back, whispering in my ear and reminding me that this is all meaningless and there's no hope of ever escaping that.

Well, there is.

My escape lies in a broken promise and a gun that I don't have hidden at the bottom of my underwear draw. A gun that I don't have, a gun that I really don't have, not at all, because sometimes lying to myself makes it all that much better.

Today is not one of those times.

Today, I want to open the draw and pull out the gun that doesn't exist and I want to load it with the bullets that don't exist and I want to press it up against my head and pull the trigger, which also does not exist. Perhaps I don't exist either.

Perhaps there's only one way to make sure of that.

-FLASHBACK-

"High school isn't that bad, Kellin." She always had a terrible habit of sugarcoating her words and now with the situation at hand, it was evident more than ever. "You'll be fine - you'll make loads of friends, I'm sure." Sometimes she didn't even notice how much she lied - unintentionally, of course, but she just didn't notice, and that hurt just as much.

"I know it's going to be bad, though." I spoke up, my voice rather timid and embarrassingly high pitched, but of course I was only fourteen and I was simply talking to my mother, who really wouldn't care at all.

"How can you know that without ever going there, though?" She continued to lie, rattling her words off almost as if she had them prepared, not even pulling her eyes off the road to pass me a momentary glance in the passenger seat.