He walked slowly through the front door to find nobody home, but he's used to it.
His mother left him and his father a long time ago.
His sister was probably out doing drugs with her friends.
And him, he was home alone.
His father was probably out picking up some drunk whore on the side of the road.
For it being late and no one was home didn't surprise him one bit.
He threw his coat down and ran upstairs to his room to try and find comfort.
Comfort of his blades is what he wanted, he wanted to paint a picture where the canvas was pale and all of the paint was a shimmering red, and the brush was harsh.
A cold, shiny, metal, brush.
That was all he needed.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Paradise
Short StoryA depressed boy can't take anymore of the pain he goes through {extremely short story} (COMPLETED)
