Counting Down the Days

1 Month

Malachai's Pov:

Dark.

Fear.

Pain.

Empty.

Hurt.

Those are the only emotions i feel everyday. There is no happiness in my life. I still wonder when and why it went all wrong. Was it the day i lost my little sister? The day my dad left me mom? The day my mom decided drugs were more important than me?

Was it because i was not strong enough? Was it because i was different? Whatever it was made everyone turn their backs on me. Back then i would get up again and again to fight off the pain. Now i accept it. I accept what my life has become. It's not like I'll be here much longer.

I realised nobody wanted nor needed me to be here. I was just a waste of space and air. First it was the anxiety. Then the depression. Soon the cutting. After that were the suicide notes i never managed to give. Months after that was my first suicide attempt. 13 more followed shortly.

Useless.

Trash.

Fag.

Whore.

Man slut.

Suicidal freak.

They all tell me. Why? Because im me. It's as simple as that. They are all scared of whats different. They don't understand what they don't know.

My only friends are the blades stained with my blood. I drag the blade across my wrist. The pain doesn't effect me anymore. The blood runs down my arms so beautifully.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I'm 12 and my mom is passed out on the couch. I run upstairs and grab a razor blade. I sit down on the bathroom floor crying. Full on sobbing. I grab a locket inside my pocket and open it. Inside is a picture of my little sister Emma.

She was so sweet and beautiful. Dirty blonde hair. Dark brown eyes. Tan skin. And her whole life ahead of her. Until my uncle shot her in the head.

I grab a bottle of sleeping pills and chug them down my throat. I start to feel drowsy but i force myself to grab my blade. I drag it alone my left wrist. Making a total of 20 lines with blood gushing out of them until i pass out. Next thing i know im at the hospital still alive.

I failed the first attempt as well all that followed. I was angry at first but over the years i just stopped caring. This time i was gonna do it. I was gonna make sure this time i was gone for good.

I'm gonna wait a month until then. I guess even now. Through all the bad things that have happened to me. I still cling to a little bit of hope. That someone would save me from this never ending nightmare.

For some people when they open their eyes their nightmares end. For me it's only my constent reality.

Until the day i stop breathing i will be Counting Down the Days.