Markiplier and JackSepticEye Imagines

Irish Oddity (Septiplier)

(Original Word Count: 3038
Edited Word Count: 3357)

Everybody has a point in their life that they want to let go. Where they feel that everybody and everything is out to get them, hunting them down to feast on their emotions. Everybody has a point where they lay down their sword during a fight and let their opponent win, jabbing them in the heart. Everybody has a point where the world around them ceases to exist, the only thing surrounding them being their devastating thoughts and incomprehensible pain and suffering. Everybody has that "why me?" moment like in the movies, pounding on the ground and begging to God that it's all a dream and that they'll wake up.

Everybody has those moments where they really, truly want to die.

For a moment, Mark thought about it as he leaned against the railing of the yellow bridge. The water below welcomed him, its waves beckoning him to fall. If Mark wasn't so afraid, he would've done it in a heart beat. He shook his head, continuing to walk across the car filled bridge. He placed his cigarette back in his mouth, taking a long drag in the hopes that it'd kill him. He sighed sadly, knowing it'd never happen as quick as he'd like it to.

He thought long and hard about his time on earth, wishing that he could think of something, anything that was worse than what he was experiencing then. When he felt off his bike and broke his arm, when he crashed his first car, when his good friend moved away, and yet nothing was as painfully terrible as what he was feeling in that moment. He sighed thoughtfully, putting out his cigarette and entering his apartment building. He took the stairs up rather than the elevator, not trusting himself to sit in a confined metal box and think. He didn't regret his decision as he darted up the steps, his lungs burning as he reached the fifteenth floor. He didn't mind the pain; it felt good to feel it somewhere that wasn't his heart.

Mark unlocked his apartment door and ducked inside, locking it quickly behind him. He knew his neighbors from down the hall would hear him coming home and they'd be eager to chat, ask where his roommate had been, but he was in no mood to speak with anyone. He clicked a few buttons on his answering machine, allowing the sounds to echo through his quiet apartment. He poured himself a glass of scotch as the machine spoke.

"You have 4 new messages," it said monotonously. Mark took a swig of his drink as it beeped, loosening his tie with a single finger. He leaned on the counter and rubbed his chin.

"Hey, it's Amy," the machine spoke, painful memories sweeping through Mark's mind. 'Cheating whore,' he thought, taking another swig of scotch. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out and get lunch? I know things between us ended kind of rough, so I was wondering if I could make it up to you? Its been a few years, and we're both civil people, so I figured that maybe we could give it another shot? Call me back." Click. The machine went on to the second message as Mark hit delete.

"Hey honey," the machine spoke, the soft voice of his mother echoing throughout the house. He looked sadly into his empty glass as he heard his mother sniffling, that same painful feeling flaring up in his heart. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Please call me back when you hear this. I'm just worried, is all. I love you, jagi." Click. Mark deleted another message, filling up his glass once again. He hated when his mother called him that; it always reminded him of when his parents were still together. He sneered, waiting for the next message to play as he sipped on his drink.

"This is Thomas," the machine boomed. His brother was always so loud and rambunctious, just like him. Thomas was always more serious though, his voice sounding more commanding than bubbly and obnoxious. He heard his brother sigh, imagining him placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "What was that, man? You can't just storm off like that. You've gotten mom all worked up and worried. You know that's the last thing she needs." He stopped for a second, sighing once again into the receiver. "Just please don't drink. You know it's bad for you." Mark took a nice long sip of his scotch, all of the fucks he once gave flying out the window. He wasn't going to actively try to kill himself, but if he did things that might have a long lasting effect...oh well. "Stay safe little bro." Click. Another message deleted. Mark placed his empty glass beside the sink as the last message started.