Thë Üncömförtäblë Trüth

♗♔W̸i̸s̸h̸ y̸o̸u̸ c̸o̸u̸l̸d̸ t̸u̸r̸n̸ o̸f̸f̸ t̸h̸e̸ q̸u̸e̸s̸t̸i̸o̸n̸s̸, t̸u̸r̸n̸ o̸f̸f̸ t̸h̸e̸ v̸o̸i̸c̸e̸s̸, t̸u̸r̸n̸ o̸f̸f̸ a̸l̸l̸ s̸o̸u̸n̸d̸. Y̸e̸a̸r̸n̸ t̸o̸ c̸l̸o̸s̸e̸ o̸u̸t̸ t̸h̸e̸ u̸g̸l̸i̸n̸e̸s̸s̸, c̸l̸o̸s̸e̸ o̸u̸t̸ t̸h̸e̸ f̸i̸l̸t̸h̸i̸n̸e̸s̸s̸, c̸l̸o̸s̸e̸ o̸u̸t̸ a̸l̸l̸ l̸i̸g̸h̸t̸. L̸o̸n̸g̸ t̸o̸ c̸a̸s̸t̸ a̸w̸a̸y̸ y̸e̸s̸t̸e̸r̸d̸a̸y̸, c̸a̸s̸t̸ a̸w̸a̸y̸ m̸e̸m̸o̸r̸y̸, c̸a̸s̸t̸ a̸w̸a̸y̸ a̸l̸l̸ j̸e̸a̸p̸o̸r̸d̸y̸♗♔
"HOW COULD SOMEONE LOVE A MISTAKE LIKE YOU"
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The white brick wall began to be splattered in red as the faded blue haired male banged his head against it.
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"I can't lose someone as special as you because...then I'd lose myself"
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Weak, bloodied knuckles slammed against the wall with a cringe worthy crack. ~I've finally lost it haven't I?~
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"NO, DON'T KILL HIM PLEASE. KILL ME INSTEAD"
♗♔P̸r̸a̸y̸ y̸o̸u̸ c̸o̸u̸l̸d̸ s̸o̸m̸e̸h̸o̸w̸ s̸t̸o̸p̸ u̸n̸c̸e̸r̸t̸a̸i̸n̸t̸y̸, s̸o̸m̸e̸h̸o̸w̸ s̸t̸o̸p̸ t̸h̸e̸ l̸o̸a̸t̸h̸i̸n̸g̸, s̸o̸m̸e̸h̸o̸w̸ s̸t̸o̸p̸ t̸h̸e̸ p̸a̸i̸n̸. A̸c̸t̸ o̸n̸ y̸o̸u̸r̸ i̸m̸p̸u̸l̸s̸e̸, s̸w̸a̸l̸l̸o̸w̸ t̸h̸e̸ b̸o̸t̸t̸l̸e̸, c̸u̸t̸ a̸ l̸i̸t̸t̸l̸e̸ d̸e̸e̸p̸e̸r̸, p̸u̸t̸ t̸h̸e̸ g̸u̸n̸ t̸o̸ y̸o̸u̸r̸ c̸h̸e̸s̸t̸♗♔
The silver gun glistened in the sun as it was brought up to Ambroses head, his fingered pressing the trigger softly
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dangerously close to the trigger
A painful bang filled the once silent air as blood seeped down the boys face
{{DISCLAIMER}} I don't own anything. Some scenes may be graphic/triggering