***WARNING*** the following content contains themes of self-harm and may be sensitive to some audiences. The content below is not deemed suitable for children.

 

***the content below is an excerpt and lacks context. Read at your own discretion***
 

V.01 "raw from author" edit. 
 

The scene was a collapse of the mind. It was no fit of rage, or some unfounded self-torture; the boy had only, just now, felt the weight of true understanding. It was the feeling of love he had surpassed and then saw its meaning in a single circle, and the future of himself. The boy had found the beginning far too early in his life, and yet his journey hadn’t ended. Perhaps that was the cause of this scene, to have emotionally and psychologically completed and learned all tormented and of all pleasures, and still had to live. It made perfect sense in his mind that there was nothing left for him, and the story of his world was empty yet still packed with other life that seemed irrelevant. It was clear, however, that the joys and beauty he recognized still existed and would always, but that was not what his mind seemed pleased with. It was starving for pain, and in all ways. But as he fed it, it only grew larger, became hungrier. Perhaps all he could then muster was a black hole so that it may envelop itself.

 

And so he went on, and at a perfect time as the home was but motes of dust and notes of leave. In a pale fluorescent light which bled into the hallway, the boy walked casually into it. He met himself in a spattered mirror, mindless in his movements, swift to find a smallish pair of scissors in the compartment behind the glass.

He first pressed the blade hard to the belly of his forearm, caring not to slice but to penetrate. Then he finally pulled the extended blade around to the first vein. It was easy how quickly his blood began to spread across his forearms. The boy was only startled when he heard the first drops hit the tiles; then the sound of a shower. A fast thought came that the wounded arm may now not have the strength to repeat the act on the left arm, but as he handed the scissors over, the red arm did so with ease, nearly without a mind, it was a wild thing.

A dense pool filled the floor and his brain became light. It was a red mirror below him, and entirely red arms but not above the elbows.

His eyes peered to the right and he saw the current meet the hallway carpet, and it immediately began to infect it. He decided to sit in his pool.

Perhaps he lost strength, but it may have been relief. He freed what itched from the inside. The boy cared a bit less about all, and his brain no longer projected flashing scenes. It let him be.

 

The inch of blood pulled back then; towards the black of the hallway. It began to rise. A crimson tsunami or something forged out of clay by a ghostly artist. He didn’t flinch, in fact, he didn’t think. He saw this being rise from his own blanket of blood. A woman, donning m obsidian-like hair and crystal pupils, a black cloak draped around her. It may be that she truly came from the black of the hallway, but he could not say for certain. It did appear that the shadow from the hallway stripped from her like a symbiotic organism attempting to remain latched. The relationship was evident, and the darkness sprung back as she leaned forward. She inspected the blood which coated her hands and shoulders. Spread some on her cheek. She lightly lifted his hand, which did not twitch. A worried expression came after a fierce look of anger. She finally spoke

“It isn’t your time,” muttered softly. Her expression changed from concerned to angry without notice, and from one to the other several times. “It… is not… your time!”

 

A sharp yell, he heard it punch the nape of his neck

 

The woman stood up and pulled the boy too, and he only stood as his knees lifelessly locked, their natural function. She inspected him, letting her eyebrows slope outward. Then she nudged his chest.

 

“What are you doing? What are you doing?” She continued, growing more fierce and more furious than before. She then seemed to come to a conclusion, one she was entirely unhappy with, so much so, that after she left a finger print markings of blood on his chest; she shoved him by it too, leaving him to collapse back onto the floor.

 

She panted, out of breath by her anger. A darkness began to grow from her, clouding from out her nose and eyes, ears and then the fibrous lanes of her fingerprints. This sable cloud fumed from her, and as her body fell into it, the boy saw her face. A pale complexion and beautifully opalescent blue eyes. Her thin eyebrows tilted outwards and a quivering smile. He felt the essence of hope when he saw it. Before she could vanish backward into the black, he had fallen asleep. The bottoms of his feet had gone cold, as did his fingers. He fell asleep, perhaps for the last time, and he could not wish farewell to Death, for she had been waiting for a very…very long time..