Chapter 1, Death.

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic scenes, and there are certain religious and moral themes touched upon in here that may not be suitable for all readers. A suicide scene is depicted and if you find yourself uncomfortable with writings detailing such a thing, I suggest you move on to a different tale. I own all characters presented in this story, and the plot is of my creation. Though, I may allow people to use the characters and/or plot with my explicit, written permission.

A loud boom of thunder shook the windows, and then a flash of lightning illuminated the room in an eerie shade of blue as the young man looked down at the razor blade he held in his right hand. The buzz from the alcohol was causing him to tremble slightly. He held the edge of the razor to his left first and pressed, but he still couldn't summon forth the courage to rip through the surface of his flesh.

He cursed and looked at himself in the mirror above his bathroom sink. His brown eyes that once sparkled full of life were dulled and glazed over, and his short brown hair was matted and mangy. He hadn't showered in over a week. He no longer felt the desire to take showers, or do anything else really. His wild, unshaven whiskers formed a mangy beard that hid his facial expressions. At one time, he was quite handsome and fully believed in cleanliness. He was not, however, a ladies man, though he once possessed the looks for it. He was a loner except for his online contact with various friends and social circles.

He felt aloof from the rest of the world. He was a wise man, who had insight into aspects of life that one at the young age of twenty should not have possessed, but he had such insights for as long as he could remember. His presence was a calming one, and troubled people flocked to him. He was an Internet junkie, and it seemed like he was convincing some random new person that suicide was not the best option they could take every other week. He was able to solve matters of the heart for others, and his advice was rarely ever faulty. However, there was always something missing. He lacked human emotion, and he never truly fit in with the rest of the world.

Since he was a small child, he always felt like he was an outsider. He learned how to manipulate his parents from a young age, and they never figured out that he was actually smarter than they realized. He excelled in school. Receiving an A required little to no work for him, no matter how difficult the subject matter was. Algebra and higher math came to him as naturally as rain in the springtime. Yet, when it came to mechanical things, he was sorely inadequate in ability. Still though, it wasn't his academics or his lack of mechanical abilities that made him feel like an outsider. It was simply the fact that his mind was always busy. It never slowed down, and he was very absent minded. It felt almost as if he had lived far too much, and that he was simply tired.

He felt so old...his eyes contained a wisdom that no one at his age could possibly possess. He understood human feelings all too well, but his heart never carried them. What was wrong with him? Why is it that his words on paper could touch so many, when he never truly felt any of the emotions he jotted down? Why is it he could understand exactly how people felt as they described their situations to him and know what words to say to comfort them when he had never experienced such things himself? His powers of empathy were beyond ordinary. He, himself, was practically heartless, but he was still human and experienced limited feelings. Just what in the hell was wrong with him? He hated the company of people in person, but he enjoyed speaking online from time to time.

Even then, in the world where no one speaks face to face, he still felt as if he was an outsider. Some of his friends viewed him as a monk of sorts. Others viewed him as unworldly, yet all were drawn to him. He had a certain charisma about him that could not be explained, and women online flocked to him, but he never fell in love, for love was something he wasn't capable of. At times, he toyed with various women, but he never caused them harm or hurt their feelings. It was a world of words, and he was a master of words, and thus, he was master of that world. Yet still, as each day passed, he felt more and more ancient, and he grew increasingly tired of life.

That's why he now stood in his bathroom contemplating the end of his life. It's something that had been coming for a while now. He sensed it and knew it, and he was at peace with himself and with the world. However, he feared pain, and that's why he hesitated with the razor blade he held onto so tightly. He tried poisons, but even the most toxic things that the common man could get a hold of had absolutely no affect on him aside from a bit of diarrhea.

He growled in frustration as he continued to stare at the image of himself in the all-encompassing mirror. The image looked back at him blankly, and then he frowned. He simply wasn't drunk enough to slice his wrist yet. It was something that was going to hurt like hell, and he knew it. He knew it instinctively, and he could even picture the blade cutting deeply through his flesh in his mind, and he already knew exactly what sensations he'd feel even without having experienced them. His mind was capable of such visualization and feeling, even without stimulation because he knew things he shouldn't and understood things others couldn't.

He retreated to his room and poured himself another glass of Coca-cola and then added in a large dose of rum and drank the mixture down painfully quickly. He sat back in his chair as the rum began to take effect in his already intoxicated state. At this rate, he was going to knock himself out cold long before he slit his wrist. Why did he have to be so aware of the world, even when drunk? It was like that with him. Even when he was in a drunken stupor, he was still conscious of himself and the world around him, and he could even pass several of the sobriety tests that police utilize to determine if a person is drunk. He sighed, and poured yet another glass of cola and rum. If he could only stay awake, he'd more than likely lose himself enough to, "Open the door and wake from the dream," soon as he had called it.

He looked up at his large computer monitor and chuckled. A few people had sent him instant messages, a feature of a program that allows people to send messages across the Internet in real-time. In these dialogue boxes, he once found solace, but now he looked at the ones directed towards him and found them to be a mockery of sorts. It was ironic, actually. People could sense that something was wrong. Two different women whom he cared for a great deal considering his limited capacity of feelings had sent him instant messages asking if he was okay. He hadn't been himself lately. His rambling about life and death had attracted much attention. He was wise, and all who knew him respected his wisdom, but it was obvious that all wasn't well when his focus was laden too heavily with thoughts of the veil of this world and the next and what could possibly lie beyond such a veil. He knew for a fact something was beyond this life, and he felt that perhaps, this world was just a dream to all of us. Too many times, he voiced this opinion, and such thoughts couldn't be healthy, could they?

He understood why his friends were concerned, and he had expected this. It was funny. People were so predictable, they might as well be a clock. However, he didn't think himself superior to anyone else, but he knew he was just different, and that he just didn't fit in with the rest of the world. Then again, there were two women he knew through the online realm that had actually come close to understanding him, and they were even like him in some ways. One woman he thought of as a little sister. He had known Amy since she was twelve years old, and now she was seventeen. She'd looked up to him like he was her big brother, and a couple years ago, she'd even started calling him brother, and he, in turn, called her his little sister. She was in tune with many of the darker sides of nature he reveled in. He felt as if she was older than she really was as well...a certain wisdom could be seen in her words, and he highly respected her. She was someone like him, different from the outside world, but she did fit in far better than he, but she would never completely belong. None of them could ever be at one with this plane of existence, yet she was able to feel and was more worldly than he. However, he was always one step ahead of her when it came to understanding the world and how it worked. He once said, "You know, you learn something new everyday," as he read a funny, yet true article on the Darwin Awards website, and she has replied, "With you, I learn a million new things, everyday we talk." Amy, yes, he would miss her.

The other woman he'd only known two years or so. Melanie had a darker view of the world, much like his, and they had often spoke of things that most people would have found to be forbidden subject matter. He smiled fondly as he recalled the night they spoke of what it'd be like to be vampires...to roam the country leaving death in their wake and living life with a sense of absolute freedom and detachment from the natural order of things. It was a vision that sent chills down his spine, and he could tell she was excited by it too. Oh how wonderful that would be! Yes, he was fond of her, and he cared for her, and that was saying quite a bit for a man who was nearly emotionless.

He took a moment to reflect upon her. Melanie was special, very special to him, and he cared for her perhaps more than anyone else he knew. He wouldn't call it love...no, there was nothing romantic between them. She was just a kindred spirit...someone far more than what she appeared to be on the surface. Most of her friends knew her as an inspiration, a carefree person who burned brightly with life and smiles, but he knew better. She'd shown him the darker parts of herself, and he hadn't judged her. He accepted her for who she was...no, he had embraced her and understood her. His opinion never changed even after she showed him pictures of her and her friends. He remarked that she was startlingly attractive, and she was flattered. Sadly, most men she'd known couldn't see past her pretty face, but he saw through it all too easily. Yet, he understood that and went out of his way from time to time to remind her how attractive she was so she didn't feel as if she somehow wasn't. He knew appearance was important to women, and he always went out of his way to make all of his female friends feel better about themselves.

Yet still, one night not too long ago, she'd came to him and told him she'd tried to kill herself. He was shocked, but not deeply so. Instead of freaking out and panicking as some of her friends had, or scolding her, he merely told her that he was glad that she failed. He reminded her that if she needed to talk, he was there, and that was that. He hadn't pitied her or felt sorry for her, and she was grateful for that. He also knew that if she wanted to talk, she'd come to him. He never once tried to force her to face an issue, and he respected her ability to deal with her problems on her own as she often preferred. This was something few of her friends understood, and though they meant well, they often times drove her insane trying to get her to open up, but he was different. In a way, he was a silent pillar for her to stand on whenever she needed and just knowing he was there was perhaps the greatest stabilizing factor in her life.

Both of these women had asked him if he was okay, and he knew he couldn't lie to him. His fingers danced across the keyboard flawlessly weaving letters into words as he spoke to them. Even in his drunken state, he still typed with a familiarity with the keyboard that could only be obtained with years of use. In fact, all the letters were worn off his keyboard from such heavy use. To him, it was as easy and natural as opening his mouth and speaking. Although, the words he was saying didn't sit well with the two women closest to him.

Melanie had understood, and though she would have done most anything to save him, there wasn't much she could do. He'd paid her respect when she had attempted it, and she couldn't just tell him it was wrong if it was how he truly felt. She merely reminded him that, for her, the experience of nearly dying was enough to open her eyes about how precious life really was. She knew he was grateful that she survived, and though she couldn't talk him out of his decision, she offered a few words to him for him to perhaps comfort him and tell him of her feelings. "Lee, I know you were happy I survived, and I'm glad I did too. I'd never tread down that road again, and now that you're facing that very same road, all I can say is that I hope you survive and come to the same realizations that I did."

He smiled, "Thank you, dear. If I do survive, I'll contact you...and try to move on."

"That's all I can ask of you," she replied. Tears fell from her eyes, though he couldn't see them. All he saw was the instant message box.

With Amy, she was much harder to talk with. He told her in a roundabout way that he wasn't going to be here anymore. He didn't lie to her, but he omitted certain things and bent and shaped the truth to fit his purposes, and he could tell by how upset she was now that she knew. However, he understood the fact that if he had come right out and stated the truth in its entirety that she'd more than likely call the police and have them over to his house and ruin his plans, so he was cautious about his approach. He knew he would have been better off not saying anything, but he couldn't do that to her. He neglected to tell her that he was, "Waking up," right then. He'd told her that sometime in the future he'd leave, and she had accepted it. She vowed to do everything she could to prevent him from dying though, as he was her big brother, and she did love him. He smiled, in spite of himself. He'd miss her in passing. He cared for her a great deal. She was his little sister...blood relations didn't matter. Their relationship went beyond blood. She was as much of a part of his family as his own mother was. He'd been there for her as her advisor, mentor, and friend for over one third of her entire life span, and he felt a powerful pang in his heart about leaving her behind.

Yet, all life must come to an end, and he knew that it didn't matter if it was sooner or later. Everyone died, and death was the only constant in life. None could escape it, no matter how hard they tried, and it is the common thread that unites all humanity and reminds us all how precious life really is. It was just his time, and he could tell. Instinctively, he knew it was the right thing to do. The world would still continue to spin as it always had, and his feelings toward death were completely filled with peace and welcoming. He didn't believe in God, but even if he had, not even that could make him waiver in his decision. He was like an old man lying upon his deathbed with sparkling eyes and a welcoming smile as he had his first glimpse beyond the veil of life that covers our eyes from our births until our deaths. He couldn't quite see beyond the veil, but he knew and accepted with great joy that his time in this world was over.

With one final alcohol-filled drink, he said goodbye to his friends and walked into his bathroom with his razor blade in his right hand and a renewed sense of faith in his decision. He shut on the warm water and climbed into the bathtub. When the tub was two-thirds of the way full, he shut off the water and climbed in. Swallowing a newly formed lump in his throat, he raised the razor blade to his left wrist and pressed it to his skin. He winced slightly as it pushed just below the surface of his skin. Alright, he was this far, and there was no turning back. He forced every thought out of his mind as he applied pressure to the blade and cut deeply into his tender flesh. He cried out and tears fell from his eyes as the searing pain roared to life. It was like a banshee screaming in his ear and driving him insane, but he continued to force himself to cut even more deeply, down to the bone severing his arteries completely. He clenched his teeth so hard it felt like they were going to shatter. He breathed hard as the dark red liquid flowed freely from his wrist and stained the clear water red. Soon, it was as if he were bathing in nothing but blood as the waters has turned completely crimson. His life force was fading fast, and he grew steadily weaker. Within just a few minutes he was bordering on the edge of going unconscious, and the pain that still flared in his wrist and burned hotter than any flame he'd ever touched finally began to gradually fade away.

The ceiling was the last thing his eyes ever saw, and the last thoughts on his mind were of his mother and the two women he knew only online, but who were far closer to him than any friends he'd ever known in person. He fell unconscious and his body sunk lower into the tub, completely submerging his head. He continued to bleed out, and water filled his lungs making breathing impossible. His heart stopped beating, and he was no longer in the land of the living.