I excuse myself, making up some shit about feeling sick... They'll be fine without me. Franks an interesting Kid, he'll keep them amused. I enter my bedroom and fall on my bed, my breath coming out in choked sobs.
I bury my head under my pillow, letting out heartwrenching sobs of pain, fear and confusion.
I just lie there. Numb and senseless while I listen to Frank, Bob and Ray all laughing in the other room. I wish I had something to laugh about right now. I slowly sit up and grab my sketchbook. Where the fuck is my pencil?
I search for it, looking under my covers and around my bed. I eventually find it under my bed, underneath an old shirt. It's still pretty sharp, which is good. I start sketching, needing to get the images on paper.
A womans corpse, burnt and bleeding, her skin turned a dark colour, while her eyes are wide open and terrified.. The child with the debris is his stomach, hand outstreched and begging for help. The bodies falling from the sky...
Then, I decide to write something.
It suddenly came to me... Lyrics to a song.. Or maybe a short story or poem..
I steady the pencil in my now shaking hand and begin to write. Naturally making a few mistakes.
You're not in This alone
Let me break this Horrible Awkward silence
Let me go,
Go on record,
Be the first to say I'm sorry,
Hear me out!
And if you would take me down
Or would you lay me out
And if the world needs something better
Let's give them one more reason, now, now ,now...
We walk in single file
We light our rails
and punch our time
Ride Escalators colder than a cell...
This broken city sky!
Like butane on my skin
Stolen from my eyes!
Hello, angel, Tell me.. Where are you?!
Tell me where we go from here!
I come to a stop.. thinking, trying to decide what should go next...Now I know how authors feel. I sigh heavily and drop the book, a few more tears dropping from my eyes.
"Bo- Ow, Bob, You're hurting my Face!" I hear Frank laughing his head off along with Ray and Bob.
I wish I could force myself to go out there and have fun.. But I can't...
Not yet...
I open the drawer next to my bed and pull out the bottle of whisky.. Just a few sips... to numb the pain, I tell myself. I slowly unsrew the lid then put my lips to the bottle, having a few sips and I feel the burning sensation climbing it's way down my throat. I sigh again and screw the lid back on.
I grab my sharpener from my box of drawing shit and Stare at it, wondering how I should do this...
I look for a screwdriver that I know I have, as I recently fixed my wardrobe with it. I find it on the very top of my wardrobe which I somehow reach and I fall back on my bed with it, Sharpener and screwdriver in my hand.
I lift the screwdriver to the screw holding the sharpener together,and begin unscrewing it. God, They make this too easy. I put the screwdriver down, and place the small screw in my little box. I take out the blade and stare at it.
It's silver, with a small hole in the center. The edges look sharp. This sharpener is new and unused, so it's very clean and shiny. I contemplate what I'm about to do.
"Ah...Fuck it." I whisper and pull up my left sleeve, looking at the very faint scars from years ago. I ready the blade against my smooth, pale skin and dig it into my flesh, relaxing at the sharp, intoxicating pain. I drag the blade across my skin, making a neat, smooth cut. Fuck, I'd forgotten how good it feels.
I repeat this process several times, watching in fascination as the blood wells up and small droplets land on my covers. I grab an old shirt and cover the cuts, soaking up the blood. I then proceed to cut once more... The blood is so beautiful. After that, I force myself to pull down my sleeves. I can still hear a lot of commotion from the living room, and decide to stay in here... I don't want to intrude on their fun. In fact, all I want to do is fade away and to never come back. This world is so cruel...
I find myself thinking about Frank.. He's so mysterious, and I Swear his eyes had gotten darker... But maybe I was just seeing things, or he might be one of those people whose eyes change color. That's megaly awesome.
I want to know why he was lying on the side of the Path, crying...
I'm sure he'll tell me when he's ready. I mean, we all have secrets, right? I feel as though I need to be there for him. Maybe he got kicked out, Or he was abandoned. If it's any of them, then that sucks.
Suddenly, I hear Billy Joe Armstrongs voice coming from nowhere.
Do you have the time,
To listen to me whine?
about nothing and everything all at once?
I dig my phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen, Oh. It's Mikey. I take a deep breath and Answer it.
"Hey bro." I Say casually, trying to hide the fact that I'd been crying.
"Gee, ya gotta help me out, Seriously, Alicia found out about the money and she threw a total flip, she's threatening to like break up with me, and that would totally suck because I really really really do love her, But the bass was so fucking beautiful, I couldn't resist, dude, you need to help me!" He says so quickly I barely manage to keep up with him. Uh.. I blink a few times, thinking...
I end up chuckling. A morbid, sadistic chuckle that of a pyschopath would chuckle "Gee? I need your help. Seriously" I hear Mikey beg of me.
"Well, That sucks for you bro." I say, still chuckling and hang up. I don't know what just overcame me, But fuck, It felt strange.
Mikey's gonna bitch at me for that later, but who cares.
I get out the bottle of whisky and drink it, consuming at least half of the contents before The bottle drops to the floor, then there's complete silence as the glass shatters everywhere, hundreds of shards littering the floor. Then, I hear Ray state simply;
"Fuck."
Then I'm out of conciousness, drifting away into a dream filled with horror and Burning corpses.