Suicidal Tendencies. His room sat around him heavily, the pressure weighting down on him like a thousand and five rocks, all shifting and moving position with every breath he took and every sigh he lost. The room itself was as the boy, dysfunctional and misplaced. Decorated as though it were about to be re-decorated, it’s bright colours spread no light in this room.The boy’s wispy black hair hung around his eyes, frustrating the eyelashes and teasing a blink, ever staring, the boy ignored
them, staring emotionless into a metallic option laying lightly on his duvet. He sniffed, smelling a thought flash through his mind, shifting his stony cold gaze, he stood.The floor of his bedroom, being that of dirt and flaking wood, scraped lightly as he shuffled around in circles, trying to banish the foreign thought from his mind, or at least silence it; for now.‘To feel’, spoke the boy unconsciously aloud. Quickly regaining his state, he snapped close his mouth and again, he paced. ‘To feel no more’, spoke his mind consciously to itself. The boy buckled in on himself, hunching into ...
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them, staring emotionless into a metallic option laying lightly on his duvet. He sniffed, smelling a thought flash through his mind, shifting his stony cold gaze, he stood.The floor of his bedroom, being that of dirt and flaking wood, scraped lightly as he shuffled around in circles, trying to banish the foreign thought from his mind, or at least silence it; for now.‘To feel’, spoke the boy unconsciously aloud. Quickly regaining his state, he snapped close his mouth and again, he paced. ‘To feel no more’, spoke his mind consciously to itself. The boy buckled in on himself, hunching into a small ball in the middle of a heap. He rocked slightly, tugging his wild hair from the roots, sending singular hairs fleeing through the air as he jumped back to his feet sharply.Again, he paced.On the bed he saw it on every turn of the room. It’s barrel was loaded and it’s safety was most definitely not set. It lay taunting him, calling him to it, tickling his mind with it’s fruitful bounty. Still, the boy paced, sweat now dripping onto and seeping into the old wood of the floor. His gaze shifted, every time, to the object, and then back, as though he were just realising he was looking at it every time, and shocked to find that he was.Still, he paced.With one sudden jerk he froze, clamped to the ground beneath him, another thought entering his head, one which had not been there previously, and had never been there before. Shaking his head furiously, he shook out nothing but hair, as the tiny thought expanded into something much bigger, more dangerous and less forthcoming.He paced no more.As the boy removed his hand away from his jaw, unlocking his silenced mouth and allowing himself to breathe, he moved slowly back over to his bed; his bed on which the saviour lay.Outstretched as his hand was, feeling the coldness of it, as though a fearful animal coming upon a demon in a forest. Now he picked it up. It was much larger than his hand. Much colder. Much more dangerous. Much more useful.The boy turned it around in his hand, feeling the trigger properly, and stared down the black tunnel which would be his fate. The cold froze his hand, his fingers, his arm, his neck, travelling up to his head and swiftly to his brain. His brain swirled, frozen and unnerved in his head; begging.And so, he pulled.
