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•what killed me• ~part one

•what killed me• ~part one

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Jan 28, 2015
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Fiction
Social Themes
He is suffering a lot he is lossing the batele against him self he can't win it .it either he loses or he dies trying to win it. its all just a bloody fight for nothing He is giving his all, trying to have the best weapons and protection but its all for nothing he doesn't even know why he tries. He knows how its all going to end but he tries to make his life as long as possible but its not worth it if he's not living and all the battling definitely isn't worth it He doesn't know what to do next ,how to continue, how to try to make it better and he dosent think that there is something but if there is it is berried deep inside his bleeding abd unwounded scars then I got shot. right in the center of my heart but not with a bullet. It was the sadness and the endless pain caused over years that was slowly building up inside me. I was left alone crying in my own pool of blood, feeling the blood role down my body. Then I took my last breath and I died all alone on the cold dirty flore.
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#216
fuckedup
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Pyro

Let me tell you my story, the one about how I died. Don't worry, though. I came back. They say when someone shares their story, they're sharing their burden. Seeking someone to help carry the weight that bends their shoulders, hoping their troubles will float away like helium balloons into the endless sky. Your silence becomes their sanctuary, a vacuum they fill with dust-covered memories. If you speak, do it gently - a nod, a smile, the ghost of a touch on their shoulder. But my story? It's different. It carved its path because trust becomes a luxury I could no longer afford. How could it not, when the one person who swore to never betray me did exactly that? The one who promised never to hurt me, broke me. The one who vowed to stay, walked away. So tell me, why trust anyone else when the person I trusted the most killed me in every way but physical? Until they managed that too. They say the most dangerous predators are the ones who look like prey. I learned this truth through split knuckles and shattered promises, through blood on my tongue and threats whispered against skin. Through playing weak while gathering my strength in darkness. Now I watch him, this self-proclaimed hunter in his own game. He doesn't see he's just another piece being moved across someone else's board. The mafia's golden prince, they whisper. If only they knew what lurks beneath that polished veneer. What dances behind those eyes that mirror the shadows I know so well. But shadows? They're born from fire. And somewhere out there, someone's striking matches, leaving black roses on cooling ashes, drawing closer with every corpse that falls. They call him Pyro. And when that name drops in a room. Well, let's just say I'm not the only one with secrets worth killing for. Some demons wear designer suits. Some victims wear crowns. And some fires are worth burning for. Welcome to the game. Trust no one. Not even me.

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