The Impossible Death

CHAPTER 6 - THE FIRST ATTEMPT

He liked the way blood looked. He liked to watch the way it would pour out of him like a waterfall after a storm.

He especially loved the way the cut looked afterwards.

He loved the way his skin would seem to widen the cut by itself and how he could see beneath his skin.

Perhaps that's why he always cut so deep, but he always thought it wasn't deep enough.

It could be deeper. It could be worse. He needed to stop complaining all the time. That's why Anxiety didn't want to be around him anymore.

Hell, he didn't want to be around himself anymore.

Looking to his left, he wasn't surprised to find a thick rope had appeared next to him.

He stared at it for what felt like, and probably was, days. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with it, but moving even a centimeter felt impossible.

Eventually, however, he was able to find just enough energy to stand up and begin his preparations for his death.

At least, what he hoped would be his death. He knew from a logical standpoint that he probably couldn't die. He didn't have a pulse or anything to damage.

Except his lungs. He could breath, right? Maybe if he took that away, then he'd die.

Even as he hung up the rope, however, he knew it was unlikely.

He wasn't human. He was simply a pawn in Thomas's mind. The fact that he could breath was probably just an illusion that Thomas had thought of.

There was hope though, and that hope stemmed solely from the only person he'd ever been close to.

Anxiety.

Anxiety had a heart beat. Deceit wasn't entirely sure what that meant though. Did it mean Virgil could die from blood loss?

He really wasn't sure.

As he stood on the end of his bed and placed his head in the noose, he couldn't help but smile as he thought back to when he would lie his head on Anxiety's chest after a nightmare and just listen. Listen to a sound completely unfamiliar to him, yet so comforting.

Tightening the rope, he looked around his sad excuse of a room for what he hoped was the last time.

Damn it was a mess. He almost felt bad for leaving such a mess behind, but he figured that no one would ever really notice his absence either which meant no one would have to deal with it.

He wasn't leaving a note either. He figured it didn't matter.

Frankly, he didn't care and he knew no one else would care either, so why bother with the formalities of saying goodbye?

Then he jumped.

He was kind of hoping his neck would snap, but also knew that he most likely didn't have the force necessary to complete such a task.

His feet dangled in the air as he felt the rope dig into his skin and burn it. He felt it tighten up drastically around his neck, cutting off all his air flow.

It really didn't feel great, but if it got the job done...

He was waiting for his vision to go black at any moment. To feel his body lose its strength to fight back.

Waiting to feel nothing. To be nothing. To be nowhere.

But it never happened.

He just hung there like a messed up decoration, his face red and his body, not his lungs, burning.

That was when he concluded that he did indeed have no lungs, which was probably why the pain was being amplified throughout his body.

He didn't get down for hours, hoping that eventually he'd fade away along with the pain of dying and the pain of living.

He gave up eventually, though, and when he did, the rope disappeared from existence and Deceit fell to the floor in a pile, not even trying to catch himself or break the fall.

He felt his wrist snap upon contact with the floor, but he let out no curse of pain.

Instead he just curled up into the tightest ball he could, pulling a blanket off the bed and haphazardly wrapping it around himself.

As he closed his eyes to sleep, he felt silent tears make their way out of his eyes.

Sleeping was the closest he'd ever get to death, but even that was always ruined for him.