[Warning: Contemplating suicide and remembering past attempts.]
Calan walked slowly down the street and into the park, his hands shoved into his pockets. It was the last day of August, the last day before he had to relive September again. So many things happened in September, so many, that he just... He wanted to try again. Maybe he wouldn't succeed - he never succeeded - but he could possibly put himself into a coma until October... That, he wouldn't mind at all.
How many times had he tried to escape? Calan didn't even know. He'd jumped off buildings, cut his wrists with a silver blade, attempted both suffocation and drowning, stuck his fingers in electrical sockets... He'd tried starving himself and started fights with gangs, hoping they'd finish him. Nothing, absolutely nothing, he always survived... He'd shot himself in the chest, but he always survived.
The teen stopped by a bench in the park and sat down, his scarlet bangs falling over his indigo eyes. It was fairly empty, the setting sun prompting most to go home, and so he figured he wouldn't be bothered. Calan wasn't... He didn't quite know what he was doing, right then. He didn't know why he'd come to this park, or brought his insomnia pills with him. He wasn't sure why he wore baggy jeans with pockets big enough to hide the bottle, or a hoodie with a large enough hood to shadow his face yet show his hair. He didn't even know why he was breathing, and he didn't know if he wanted to continue or not.
The irony of that Green Day song, "When September Ends". This was one reason he loved music so much... It spoke to him in ways many wouldn't understand. Give him a few minutes to look, and he could probably tell his entire story in music alone.
There were no cries or sobs or moans of grief as these thoughts crossed his mind. His eyes were dark and glassy, but they were dry. Calan had gone through these motions too many times to connect his feelings anymore. Suicide notes had already been written and crumpled, rewritten and tossed away too many times. Besides, who was there to write to, anyway? "Dear Adrian, I'm sorry I killed you, but I killed myself now, I hope that makes you feel better." or, "Dear Dad, Your mistake is gone and you can breathe again, have a nice life!" Really, writing notes would make him feel worse, not better.
From within his baggy pocket, he fingered out a couple pills, but held them inside his fingers. Did he want to try again, now that he might have a fresh start? Hell, would overdosing even work? Calan didn't know, but... Maybe he could take a few too many insomnia pills, and just go to sleep for a while... If not forever, than maybe for September.
Why was he in the park? Did he want someone to see him, maybe stop him...? No. That wasn't it. Calan had been stopped before, and so if that was the case, he wouldn't be contemplating death again. Maybe he just didn't want to die alone... Out here, maybe someone would find him, once he was gone. Maybe he could be buried, instead of becoming a rotting corpse in his dorm. That would be nice... Maybe he didn't want to die in a dark, bland room. Maybe he wanted to die in a pretty place, with beautiful scenery and peaceful sounds and a sunset looking overhead. Sunset... Calan Marshall, born at sunrise and gone at sunset, that sounded nice.
Was death really bliss? Or would he be trapped for eternity as a spirit? If he wasn't, would he go to Hell? What about Hea- No, there was no way. Would he simply fade from existence...?
Did it matter?
He let out a broken sigh as he threw his body back against the seat of the bench, fingers grasping the pills a little tighter. Calan was close, so close, to swallowing them and then the rest of the half-full bottle... 'If I'm not supposed to die today... God, Universe, whoever you are..give me a sign...' he thought, gazing upwards at the darkening sky.
For a few minutes, nothing happened, and he began to wonder why he even asked for something as silly as a sign, a reason to live, because one wasn't here and one wasn't coming any time soon... So, he began to slide his hand from his pocket.
He heard a mew.
Calan stopped the movement of his hand, his fingers just barely beginning to come out of his pocket, and dropped the little white pills back into the pocket. Slowly, he swiveled his head around, dark eyes searching for the source. There, a bit behind him, was a tiny black kitten. It's eyes were blue, incredibly so, even though it was old enough for them to change, and it had a little white spot on its nose, the only blemish in its otherwise flawless pelt. Caught and stuck in the branches if the bush, the little thing pleaded to Calan with its eyes, mewing and trilling softly as it struggled.
Silently, he rose from the bench and scooped the kitten into his arms. It nestled quietly into the arms of its savior, and slowly, a small smile rose to Calan's lips. A coincidence, maybe, or was she a sign...? Either way, with the kitten tucked quietly into he crook of one of his elbows, he brought his other arm up and stroked her velvety fur. He had a reason to live, now... He had to live for the kitten...
Maybe it wasn't that much of a reason, but Calan didn't care. As small as she was, both literally and metaphorically... She was his reason.
Calan turned and stepped quietly away form the bench. He left through the gates of the park and continued down the sidewalk, his kitten in his arms. She began to our to the beat of his aching heart, and he smiled a real smile bigger than any others he'd smiled in a year.
"Skittles," he decided, uttering the name softly as he padded down the sidewalk, "because you're small and sweet..."
"Ive smiled a smile bigger than you, haven't I?"
Calan walked slowly down the street and into the park, his hands shoved into his pockets. It was the last day of August, the last day before he had to relive September again. So many things happened in September, so many, that he just... He wanted to try again. Maybe he wouldn't succeed - he never succeeded - but he could possibly put himself into a coma until October... That, he wouldn't mind at all.
How many times had he tried to escape? Calan didn't even know. He'd jumped off buildings, cut his wrists with a silver blade, attempted both suffocation and drowning, stuck his fingers in electrical sockets... He'd tried starving himself and started fights with gangs, hoping they'd finish him. Nothing, absolutely nothing, he always survived... He'd shot himself in the chest, but he always survived.
The teen stopped by a bench in the park and sat down, his scarlet bangs falling over his indigo eyes. It was fairly empty, the setting sun prompting most to go home, and so he figured he wouldn't be bothered. Calan wasn't... He didn't quite know what he was doing, right then. He didn't know why he'd come to this park, or brought his insomnia pills with him. He wasn't sure why he wore baggy jeans with pockets big enough to hide the bottle, or a hoodie with a large enough hood to shadow his face yet show his hair. He didn't even know why he was breathing, and he didn't know if he wanted to continue or not.
The irony of that Green Day song, "When September Ends". This was one reason he loved music so much... It spoke to him in ways many wouldn't understand. Give him a few minutes to look, and he could probably tell his entire story in music alone.
There were no cries or sobs or moans of grief as these thoughts crossed his mind. His eyes were dark and glassy, but they were dry. Calan had gone through these motions too many times to connect his feelings anymore. Suicide notes had already been written and crumpled, rewritten and tossed away too many times. Besides, who was there to write to, anyway? "Dear Adrian, I'm sorry I killed you, but I killed myself now, I hope that makes you feel better." or, "Dear Dad, Your mistake is gone and you can breathe again, have a nice life!" Really, writing notes would make him feel worse, not better.
From within his baggy pocket, he fingered out a couple pills, but held them inside his fingers. Did he want to try again, now that he might have a fresh start? Hell, would overdosing even work? Calan didn't know, but... Maybe he could take a few too many insomnia pills, and just go to sleep for a while... If not forever, than maybe for September.
Why was he in the park? Did he want someone to see him, maybe stop him...? No. That wasn't it. Calan had been stopped before, and so if that was the case, he wouldn't be contemplating death again. Maybe he just didn't want to die alone... Out here, maybe someone would find him, once he was gone. Maybe he could be buried, instead of becoming a rotting corpse in his dorm. That would be nice... Maybe he didn't want to die in a dark, bland room. Maybe he wanted to die in a pretty place, with beautiful scenery and peaceful sounds and a sunset looking overhead. Sunset... Calan Marshall, born at sunrise and gone at sunset, that sounded nice.
Was death really bliss? Or would he be trapped for eternity as a spirit? If he wasn't, would he go to Hell? What about Hea- No, there was no way. Would he simply fade from existence...?
Did it matter?
He let out a broken sigh as he threw his body back against the seat of the bench, fingers grasping the pills a little tighter. Calan was close, so close, to swallowing them and then the rest of the half-full bottle... 'If I'm not supposed to die today... God, Universe, whoever you are..give me a sign...' he thought, gazing upwards at the darkening sky.
For a few minutes, nothing happened, and he began to wonder why he even asked for something as silly as a sign, a reason to live, because one wasn't here and one wasn't coming any time soon... So, he began to slide his hand from his pocket.
He heard a mew.
Calan stopped the movement of his hand, his fingers just barely beginning to come out of his pocket, and dropped the little white pills back into the pocket. Slowly, he swiveled his head around, dark eyes searching for the source. There, a bit behind him, was a tiny black kitten. It's eyes were blue, incredibly so, even though it was old enough for them to change, and it had a little white spot on its nose, the only blemish in its otherwise flawless pelt. Caught and stuck in the branches if the bush, the little thing pleaded to Calan with its eyes, mewing and trilling softly as it struggled.
Silently, he rose from the bench and scooped the kitten into his arms. It nestled quietly into the arms of its savior, and slowly, a small smile rose to Calan's lips. A coincidence, maybe, or was she a sign...? Either way, with the kitten tucked quietly into he crook of one of his elbows, he brought his other arm up and stroked her velvety fur. He had a reason to live, now... He had to live for the kitten...
Maybe it wasn't that much of a reason, but Calan didn't care. As small as she was, both literally and metaphorically... She was his reason.
Calan turned and stepped quietly away form the bench. He left through the gates of the park and continued down the sidewalk, his kitten in his arms. She began to our to the beat of his aching heart, and he smiled a real smile bigger than any others he'd smiled in a year.
"Skittles," he decided, uttering the name softly as he padded down the sidewalk, "because you're small and sweet..."
"Ive smiled a smile bigger than you, haven't I?"