A/N: Ok, so I know I am not exactly done with my other story, but I wanted
to try my hand at angst. Hope you all like it, all the people I've showed
it to seem to.
Summary: The thoughts of a young man before committing suicide.
Last Thoughts
I look at my distorted reflection in the knife and I can't help but think that is the way I feel like.
Distorted, yes, but also I feel ugly. Mind you I don't only feel ugly in the physical sense, but also in the emotional sense. If I weren't so dead set on what I was about to do, I would try to find better words. . . .Heh, "dead set", I always did have a sick sense of humor.
As I take the knife in my hand, I reflect on everything that has brought me to do this.
I suppose that, in a way, I will be a statistic. Just another angsty teenager who committed suicide because he was alone. And in an emotional way that is true, I always felt like I could never fully express my feelings with my friends. I was always told I was very mature for my age, I never thought that'd be my downfall.
My friends.I wonder how they'll react? A part of me still believes that they will be saddened, which could very well be true, and yet another part knows that they will get over it soon. After all, if they all decided to go their separate ways and forget about me, I don't doubt that they would do that.
As I put the knife on my warm skin, which has now lost some of its color, the cold, unfeeling metal-like blade makes shivers run down my spine.
That feeling of anxiety and anticipation for relief is one of the reasons why I started hurting myself. But the most prominent reason was, oddly enough, a thirst for power.
I've been the butt of many jokes. And though I might not have shown it, it always hurt me. Then, faced with the idea that the only way to make myself feel better was to hurt someone else, I set out to hurt the only person I could.myself.
It started "innocently" enough; I would pinch myself from time to time. Then I started biting and hitting myself, maybe pulling my hair now and then. Before I knew it, my arms, legs, and some parts of my chest had knife(or any other sharp object I had with me) scars on them.
I was always careful not to let anyone know. Every day I would wear pants and a jacket, and when a jacket wasn't available, I would wear long sleeve shirts or sweaters.
As I found myself being more and more somber, I noticed my friends shying away. That hurt me most of all, that my friends, even the ones I thought I could trust forever, only were close to me when I put on the façade of the big loveable oaf.
Tears of rage fill my eyes as I press down on my skin, the blade giving me a mixture of pain and enjoyment.
Was that all I was to them! Some sort of monkey that they saw as entertainment!? Was I not allowed to show any other feelings!?
As I finish cutting my left hand, I take a moment to admire the blood that is flowing. I always saw it as a wonder that so much blood could come from one vein.
I quickly start on my right hand before I get too weak. I had decided a long time ago that I would not do this at my house in order to save my family the pain of finding me like this. That's why I chose this bridge, at night there are no people coming through here, but during the day it is the complete opposite.
When the blade finishes its job, I throw it to my side and just sit awaiting the sweet relief that will be death.
As I get more and more tired and my eyes start to get heavy, I have one last revelation.
No matter how bad my friends treat me or how much they ignore me, the real me, I will always care for them.
And as I sit on the floor on my own blood, I think about all my friends and my family and through my now pale lips I utter hoarsely my last words on this plane of existence.
"I love you all."
A/N: Well, how was it? I really hope I did a good job. Angst has always been my favorite genre.
Summary: The thoughts of a young man before committing suicide.
Last Thoughts
I look at my distorted reflection in the knife and I can't help but think that is the way I feel like.
Distorted, yes, but also I feel ugly. Mind you I don't only feel ugly in the physical sense, but also in the emotional sense. If I weren't so dead set on what I was about to do, I would try to find better words. . . .Heh, "dead set", I always did have a sick sense of humor.
As I take the knife in my hand, I reflect on everything that has brought me to do this.
I suppose that, in a way, I will be a statistic. Just another angsty teenager who committed suicide because he was alone. And in an emotional way that is true, I always felt like I could never fully express my feelings with my friends. I was always told I was very mature for my age, I never thought that'd be my downfall.
My friends.I wonder how they'll react? A part of me still believes that they will be saddened, which could very well be true, and yet another part knows that they will get over it soon. After all, if they all decided to go their separate ways and forget about me, I don't doubt that they would do that.
As I put the knife on my warm skin, which has now lost some of its color, the cold, unfeeling metal-like blade makes shivers run down my spine.
That feeling of anxiety and anticipation for relief is one of the reasons why I started hurting myself. But the most prominent reason was, oddly enough, a thirst for power.
I've been the butt of many jokes. And though I might not have shown it, it always hurt me. Then, faced with the idea that the only way to make myself feel better was to hurt someone else, I set out to hurt the only person I could.myself.
It started "innocently" enough; I would pinch myself from time to time. Then I started biting and hitting myself, maybe pulling my hair now and then. Before I knew it, my arms, legs, and some parts of my chest had knife(or any other sharp object I had with me) scars on them.
I was always careful not to let anyone know. Every day I would wear pants and a jacket, and when a jacket wasn't available, I would wear long sleeve shirts or sweaters.
As I found myself being more and more somber, I noticed my friends shying away. That hurt me most of all, that my friends, even the ones I thought I could trust forever, only were close to me when I put on the façade of the big loveable oaf.
Tears of rage fill my eyes as I press down on my skin, the blade giving me a mixture of pain and enjoyment.
Was that all I was to them! Some sort of monkey that they saw as entertainment!? Was I not allowed to show any other feelings!?
As I finish cutting my left hand, I take a moment to admire the blood that is flowing. I always saw it as a wonder that so much blood could come from one vein.
I quickly start on my right hand before I get too weak. I had decided a long time ago that I would not do this at my house in order to save my family the pain of finding me like this. That's why I chose this bridge, at night there are no people coming through here, but during the day it is the complete opposite.
When the blade finishes its job, I throw it to my side and just sit awaiting the sweet relief that will be death.
As I get more and more tired and my eyes start to get heavy, I have one last revelation.
No matter how bad my friends treat me or how much they ignore me, the real me, I will always care for them.
And as I sit on the floor on my own blood, I think about all my friends and my family and through my now pale lips I utter hoarsely my last words on this plane of existence.
"I love you all."
A/N: Well, how was it? I really hope I did a good job. Angst has always been my favorite genre.