𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧(𝗿. 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮. 𝗷𝗷𝗸.)

𝙧 𝙪 𝙢 𝙞 𝙣 𝙖 𝙩 𝙚

ru·mi·nate

\ˈrü-mə-ˌnāt\

verb

: to think carefully and deeply about something

of an animal: to bring up and chew again what has already been chewed and swallowed

[SECOND PERSON]

(TW. MENTIONS OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE.)

Ah. . .  It's cold.

You let out a breath of air as you walked through the cold streets. By now, most people would assume you were homeless.

That's not the case though. You just didn't want to go home, that's all.

It was just so quiet, empty, and alone. You found the silence deafening, and you felt so stuffed at the same time.

The only times you were found at home were when you wanted proper sleep or a change of clothes. Usually, it's to change clothes, it's very seldom for you to sleep.

You've been prescribed pills to help you sleep, but at this point, you might as well down the entire bottle and overdose because you aren't getting any sleep if you don't.

As a result of the overdose, your body and mind die out for a moment. The feeling of death temporarily made you euphoric. Death was so peaceful, warm, and inviting it devastated you to no end when you were brought back to life. And every time you were revived, life welcomed you with coldness and cruelty.

Bottle after bottle, you desperately try to reach that state of euphoria again. But each revival only made you crave death even more. Sleep was a luxury at this point, if you drank enough bottles your body might shut down instead of dying due to the repeated deaths and revivals. Exhausting your brain and giving you the illusion of death instead, but in reality you merely passed out.

Waking up from these sessions would me a fucking headache too. Your body cannot handle the circulation of all the pills you ingested, it made you miserable. So to solve that problem you would slit your arms, neck-- wherever blood flowed the most, and drain out the contaminated blood. It takes hours for fresh blood to generate and circulate within your system. 

You were conscious every time this happened too. Too weak to move around, but not enough for death to happen. It was awful, this is what you get for being too desperate. 

The streets were mostly empty at this time of night. So not many people bothered you too much. You even had the chance to climb up to the very top of the building.

Standing there over the ledge, and looking down onto the city gave you a wave of nostalgia. Sad to say you've been on more rooftops than you've ever been at home under a warm blanket.

Every ten years you would take in a new fake name, and once another decade has passed you would commit suicide, hide for another decade or two, resurface, make up a new name and the cycle continues.

This was to throw people off. You couldn't let them know you were immortal. Not when the chance of jujutsu sorcerers is still around.

You let out another breath. This time longer and more irritable. You squatted over the ledge and continued to eye the city.

Another day living. Pretty sure the generation of kids today feels the same. 

Sure it was fun at first. But then you couldn't feel pain anymore, others started to get scared of you, and all your past friends were dying and you were always the last one standing.

You all saw them fade away, while you lingered. You'd kill to feel something again, anything.

Some were even jealous of you being immortal, saying that you could live to see the future and the evolution of humanity, but that didn't interest you at all.