Dead

Luka:

I placed the cigarette on my mouth, and inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes ad I let the grayish light smoke escape my lips, slowly.

My back was resting against the brick wall of my apartment. I looked around at the people walking down the streets.

Kiel had always been a cold city. It was after all, north up Germany.

They were all with thick coats, gloves, walking quickly as their breath turned into steam in the air. But I wasn't cold.

I didn't feel anything.

I knew my body felt it, because I could see the thin hair in my arms rise, my hands were redder and I was sure that if I looked myself in the mirror my cheeks would be flushed and my lips would be cherry red.

As they always turned when I was cold.

I closed my eyes again with a sigh.

When would I be feeling again?

When would I be living again?

It was like I was a leaving dead.

My phone in my pocket started vibrating.

I rolled my eyes and took it out, glancing at the caller ID.

What do I even look?

I knew who it was.

He always called, every hour, every day, every time.

"Father" I said dully throwing the cigarette to the floor.

"Where the fuck are you? You should've been home ten minutes ago, kid" I repressed a sigh and got my back off the wall.

"I'm about to go in, father... I'll be there in a bit"

"You better" I shut close my cell phone and got inside the building.

How longer do I have to take this for?

How much pain can a person hold in without going insane?

Am I insane already?

I opened the black wooden door, number 4.

The instant smell of alcohol, cigarette and garbage reached my nose.

I sighed and closed the door behind me.

And so it starts.

"Where were you, kid" I suppressed another sigh and didn't bother looking at him.

"I was just downstairs, father"

He got closer.

And closer, and closer, until his breath hit my face and I had to bite the inside of my lip not to grimace.

I then lifted my eyes; he wasn't taller than I was.

He was just my height.

Looking at him was always like looking at me, 17 years older.

Same albino blue eyes, that looked like Siberian husky eyes.

Same snow white skin.

There were only slight obvious differences.

His body was built, his hair was dirty blond and he always kept it short. He had a marked wrinkle in between his brows, a growing beard and his eyes always seemed watery.

I was thinner, still toned because of his constant training. My hair was longer than his, but it still was short and chocolate dark brown. My skin was wrinkleless and I had a few freckles on my nose, and I couldn't grow facial hair even if my life pended on it.

He pressed his body against mine, and I was in between him and the door.

"I don't believe you..." I just looked at him.

There was no fear anymore.

No more...

There was nothing inside of me, not even disgust.

Just make it quick.

And he did.

I stood up from the couch, and got dressed again.

I didn't even bother to take a shower.

So what if I smelled like him all over?

So what if I had his... essence still in me?

So what?

Who gives a shit anyway?

I have no friends, I have no girlfriend, and I have no family... I have nothing.

Nothing.

I got out the apartment, my backside hurting, but I can only faintly feel it.

I stumbled out the building and into the street.

It must've been around 3 AM. No one was on the street, a few cars passed by.

The moon was up, the stars were bright.

I could hear the see from there; I lived a couple of blocks away from the port.

I walked aimlessly down the streets.

I looked at my cell phone.

3.23 AM.

I want to call someone.

Only I had no one to call.

I want to scream.

But my voice was long ago dead.

I want to throw up.

So I did.

I kept on walking until I reached the pier.

I looked down, the sea.

Beautiful.

The smell of it, the purity... the freshness.

I laid with my back on the old wood and my legs hanging above the water.

I opened my eyes, up there the stars kept on glistening.

The moon kept on shining.

The ships and boats moved slightly in the ocean.

I felt a lump in my throat.

What the fuck do I do?

I just felt so... empty.

So empty.

There was nothing I could do... I just... there was nothing there for me.

I didn't realize I had been crying until a fresh breeze cooled my warm tears.

What do I cry about? And why?

Why can't I just stop aching?

Why can't I just die?

Die...

Die.

I opened my eyes again.

The city was so quiet.

I still felt the disgusting taste of vomit in my mouth, still felt the tears staining my cheeks, the aching inside of me.

I sat up and looked at the sea again.

Why can't I just be swallowed up, killed?

Why, why, why?

I lightly touched the water with my feet.

The water entered quickly through my beaten up sneakers and old socks.

Cold. So, so cold.

But I didn't even shiver.

I just felt I was as cold as the water.

Why do I exist?

I glanced up.

Cold.

For what?

To be fucked everyday by my father?

To be yelled at?

To be beaten up?

To be absolutely ignored?

Ignored...

I jumped off the pier and quickly sank into the water.

Cold.

Instinct made me pull my head outside. And I inhaled sharply.

I kicked my feet to make me float.

I didn't realize that the more I kicked the furthest I moved.

From the pier, from the city, from life.

Why do I even struggle?

I never understood why, if I wanted to die so badly, I couldn't get myself to just let go.

Let go.

I was tired, I was cold.

And I was scared.

"Help!" I screamed into the night.

Into nothing. The ships kept on swaying lightly against the cold water.

I was so damned cold.

"H-help!" And I sank.

And I kicked.

I breathed in when I pulled my head up again.

I never learned to swim.

I moved my arms, I looked around.

Nothing.

Funny, how I hadn't felt anything for the past years, how I never cared, how I wanted to just stop existing... and only when I was dying my mind, my body, my soul remembered that I was still alive.

And I felt.

I felt the fear, I felt the anxiety.

I didn't want to die, I just wanted...

I don't know what I wanted.

I was just 19 years old... 19.

I was a kid... I didn't want to die, I just wanted to live.

I wanted to live.

I want to live.

But instead, I sank. I tried kicking but my limbs were numb. I was too cold until I wasn't cold anymore.

And I looked up to the surface.

Help me.

I didn't want to die.

The salty water made my eyes itch.

The cold embraced me.

And I wanted out.

I gasped for air, but only water entered my lungs.

I screamed, I moved, I waved, I kicked.

But there was nothing left for me.

Funny... it was the only time I actually got what I wanted when I was alive.

And I realized too late that I didn't want it anymore.

I just died.

And you know what was even worse than dying?

Realizing afterwards... yes, afterwards that nobody, I mean... nobody gave a damn about me.

Nobody.

At least not in this world.