Short Stories!

Black

Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked.

The anger and passion that was once there is now gone. Now all that remains is a stone with his name on it. It started with a sense of being lost. Then there was the black hole that sucked away any feelings he had. Or thought he had. A great person that once filled the room with light has been replaced with the person that's as dark as the shadows in the most secret corners of his mind. No one cares anymore. Nobody will even notice you are gone. They don't even notice you now. The demons that infect his thoughts and actions told him as he drifted away into the abyss. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. His already dim mood turned even darker with the thoughts his demons provide him with. Black is his mood when nobody cares.

He tried protecting himself. He truly did. The repetitive beating of his heart reminded him of what he lost. He watched as the door opened and the lights being turned on. He still held the kitchen knife in his hand, hovering just slightly above his arm, when she screamed and ran out. Ran out of the room. Ran out of the house. Ran out of his life. All alone again. They say. The Demons. Nobody is there. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. The repetitive beating of his heart reminded him of what there was. His heart heavy with the thoughts. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there.

He hides the pictures on his arms, the ones that he drew with the knife. He hides the fact that the demons are now his friends. He hides his dark emotions is a locked cage during school and family meals. He doesn't understand why nobody understands him. Why his peers avoid him as if he were a disease. If only he could remove the chains. If only he could open the cage. Don't show them. They will only run from you more. They would hide. No one but us understands you. They are right. The demons that are there. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands.

A lock and a search and finally a key. A locker and box. A black box. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. One by one they enter, though he knows he only needs one. Nobody is there. No one will notice. Alone again. They will run if they see. He repeats these words to himself. No one. Not a single person will miss you. Now you just need one. His demons have always been there. They were just silent for a long time. But they speak the truth, he thinks. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. The repetitive beating of his heart reminded him of what there was. His heart heavy with the thoughts. It stops. His heart. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand.

A flash from the explosion. A loud bang is heard all around his house. The bang is heard for a long distance outside. He lays crumpled on the ground. The gun still in his hand. The box of bullets on his bed. Blood seeps into the ground. His blood. Sirens scream and lights flash blue and red outside his window. Behind the closed curtains. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground.

They come for him, later that day. They pound on the door asking if anyone is there. The gun lays in his hand. He lays crumpled on the floor. The demons are silent. They say no more. The door falls down and lands on the floor. The people standing outside looking around his room. They see his broken body. Broken from the people that avoided him. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found.

The gun is removed. His body is stiff and cold. White cloth covers his broken form. He is carried away from the scene of his death. The death that he caused. A coffin is purchased. Black and dark like his demons were. Like his thoughts were. His parents cry as they arrange a funeral. His friends cry knowing he isn't coming back. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in.

The coffin is opened and his corpse is seen. Tears are shed, both by family and friends. They remember the happy times. The times at the mall that was closed a while ago now. The times at the lake where they all swam and laughed. He was a good friend, a kind person, a loving son, and brother. The memories that were once light are now tainted with pain. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in. Black as they remember the person he's been.

Now that he is gone there are only memories. Old ones. His parents clean his room and donate his stuff. They put pictures in boxes so they don't have to see every day what they missed before. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in. Black as they remember the person he's been. Black is the pain his parents go through.

He was so happy. That is all that he showed. No one knew what he was going through. No one knew about the demons. They would have helped in any way they could've. Now there is no going back. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in. Black as they remember the person he's been. Black is the pain his parents go through. Black is the person they thought they once knew.

That is all that it took. A gun, a bullet, a few bad thoughts. Now he is gone forever. There is no going back. He made his choice. He paid the price. Eternal darkness. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in. Black as they remember the person he's been. Black is the pain his parents go through. Black is the person they thought they once knew. Eternal blackness is the choice that he made. Forever dead is the price that he paid.

Black is his mood when nobody cares. Black is his heart when nobody's there. Black is his soul, no one understands. Black is the gun, death by his own hand. Black is the blood, seeping into the cold ground. Black are the clothes they wear when he is found. Black is the coffin they carry him in. Black as they remember the person he's been. Black is the pain his parents go through. Black is the person they thought they once knew. Eternal blackness is the choice that he made. Forever dead is the price that he paid.

Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked. His thoughts trapped. Out of mind. Out of sight. Alone. Gone. The repeating pounding of a broken heart is silenced. Doors shut. Lights out. Curtains closed. Headphones on. World blocked.

Black.

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't." -Stephen King