Ravens At My Window

My fingers were numb and I couldn’t move them anymore. I used my arms to raise them high and slap them against the wall, letting the blood make wet smacking sounds against it. I slowly slid down, leaving a trail of blood from the wrists that I had slit a moment before with a razor from the bathroom. “They make cleaner cuts,” a friend had once said. “Sharper than ever before!” the commercials had once said.
They were right.

I slowly trudged around my room, sliding my hands along the wall as I went, leaving my trail of hopeless destruction. I never wanted it to end like this, but it was the only thing I could do. It wasn’t my fault my family hated me. It wasn’t my fault that I was always the nothing. It wasn’t my fault that no matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough for them.

And now I’m paying the price for their stupidity. The doctor had specifically told them that I needed therapy and anti-depressants, but they cancelled both after three months so that they could save up for the new speedboat. My sudden loss of sanity was like crashing through the looking glass and ending up in Wonderland where I proceeded to kill each and every character, including that bitch Alice. There was no hope. There was nothing to go back on. I was alone in this world that could only be mine.

Voices were screaming in my head, telling me to do this and scream that. They had done this kind of stuff before, but this was the first time I had truly acted upon them. I found that shaving blade, broke it apart and took that razor to both of my wrists, pressing hard and cutting deep. The blood exploded from the main arteries, blasting out with each heartbeat. Now here I was, rubbing it all on my hands and spreading it throughout the house in the middle of the night, proceeding from room to room and letting it splatter on everything. That was all there was to do, really. It’s not like I could turn back now.

I could barely stand as I proceeded into the dark kitchen, dragging my hands wherever I could. I collapsed, crawling to the middle of the floor, letting my handprints show where I went from the walls. As I approached the centre of the room I let the tears fall from my eyes.

I looked up through the large kitchen window to see a crack of lightning illuminate a shape that stared at me. I couldn’t help but stare through tired, bloodshot eyes as more lightning illuminated the body of a raven looking down upon me in pity. I believe it was Edgar Allen Poe who once wrote about a raven being the bringer of death to a man who pondered weak and weary during a midnight dreary. Even now I wondered what his life would have been like if everything hadn’t turned to shit like it was for me. My eyes were locked in those of the ravens as the voices screamed for my hand to move. I began to trace letters on the floor.

Another raven flew through the cracking sky and landed on the sill, waiting for me.

Another one hovered, as well as the next that approached.

They’re coming for me, I know it.

They’re coming to bring me to the Devil.

How do you like me now, eh? Am I good enough for you? Do I make you proud?

I certainly hope so, because I can’t stay awake anymore. I can barely see the ravens that are cracking the glass with their beaks. I can’t hear the smash as they all fly in at once. I can’t feel their talons and beaks as they climb on top of me and start pecking. I don’t know if they’re even real.

At least this is real.