Euthanasia (Kellic)

37: The Intruder

Before You Put My Body In The Cold Ground, Take Some Time To Warm It With Your Hand, Before It's Coming To An End

The past few days had been hard, to say the least.

The past few days I'd been kept in a hospital under suicide watch with a desire of nothing more than to make sure the bullet didn't dodge my brain this time, next time.

I reckon there'll be a next time, some day. If not now, soon.

It's not what I want but it is quite obviously what's inevitable - I'm not quite stupid enough to deny something like that. 

I think I've spent the past ten years with my eyes fixated upon the all too perfect white wall in front of me, but it's barely been ten minutes and I can't help but wish for time to go slower, for something to happen, for anything to happen.

But everything just reminds white when it's all still stained red inside my head and I almost feel like I'm choking on hospital chemicals by now, but I'm wrong, I'm just coughing and wishing I was joking because all too white walls seemed to drive me particularly insane.

That of course only being a bad thing as it warranted to extra time spent staring at nothing but an all too white wall, and right now I barely even doubted I could take the rest of the time that was mandatory.

Mandatory insanity dished out to the already insane. Wasn't that just fucking great? Because no one ever believes the insane, they could practically do anything to me now but really I think the white wall in front of me was enough.

I had lost track of time, lost track of everything entirely by now and I hadn't even been here all that long, and after all, it was just for my own safety, but if safety was this numb nothingness then I didn't want it all. What could I really do myself that would be that bad after all?

It's not like I can even manage to fucking kill myself.

Is it?

Huh?

Fucking pathetic, I know.

I think perhaps even hating myself is a privilege I don't deserve.

But I can't help but take it nonetheless and with this insanity it's almost like they want people to kill themselves, which perhaps wouldn't be all that bad for anyone involved.

Vic Fuentes wasn't involved.

Not at all.

He wasn't even here - he wasn't fucking here and therefore he deserved no part, no involvement in my decimation. And that way it would go forward, because I think the only reason why I'm still alive, why I'm here and not down in hell, is not the gun slipping or my hand shaking, it's him.

Him.

Fucking Vic Fuentes. Somehow, he's done this and I of course am clueless to his methods, but it was surely him that kept me alive.

And for what reason I couldn't even fathom. His 'obsession' with me, it was getting strange, and completely incomprehendable. I couldn't understand why he even cares, let alone why he has this odd fascination with prolonging my existence.

It's not like it matters, after all.

And then the white in front of me seems to break apart and my first instinct is to check if I'm hallucinating, but no, the door has simply swung open and I let myself feel a little stupid, because just like everything else, it barely matters at all.

Anyway, it wasn't as if I was expecting them to just leave me alone for all this time - I bet they're here to search me and rid me of whatever sanity I have left.