Non-stop •Mute Alex•

Alexander

A/N: Ah, you know this is a short chapter

Co-written by OwlWithAHat

I do not glorify self harm, I only use my word choice to further enhance your reading experience. With that said:

TW: Reference and urges to self harm

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I may not live to see our glory
But I will gladly join the fight
And when our children tell our story
They'll tell the story of tonight

Alexander's P.O.V
John seemed to like the song idea quite a bit. I told him my inspiration and we kept writing from there.

Raise a glass to freedom
Something they can never take away
No matter what they tell you

John liked that it was the black lives matter movement for the fact that a lot of his close friends and some distant relatives have been impacted by it.

Raise a glass to the four of us
Tomorrow there'll be more of us
Telling the story of tonight
They'll tell the story of tonight

The four of us. Four of who? It could be my three best friends: Lafayette, Hercules, John and I. It could be my last three people I cared about in my family: Usnavi, James, and mother. It could be the four things that define me: knowledge, tolerance, pain and loneliness.

Raise a glass to freedom
Something they can never take away
No matter what she tells you
Let's have another round tonight
They'll tell the story of tonight~

When we finished the song we named it The Story of Tonight. John seemed to really enjoy it. Man, I wish I could be even more creative to come up with some rhythms for it, but that's John's job. He's coming over tomorrow to play it for me. I'm hoping Lafayette and Hercules can be here too since I'm getting out tomorrow.

I've gotten used to the cold and quiet area that is my hospital room, it's gray colored walls match the lonely aura surrounding me as well. My mind seems to wander recently. Maybe a side effect of boredom, or to keep me from thinking about my real problems.

Calling Usnavi took a lot of courage, being able to hold a conversation and confront him about what I saw. I might have just been crazy, or maybe worried. Either way I needed to make sure

I picked up the phone and called his contact. It rang once.. twice.. three times. I was sent to voicemail and his sweet voice was there. "Usnavi's cellular, haha, sorry I didn't pick up. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. Bye."

Everything I know about panic starts to kick in. Why didn't he answer? Is he doing something? Is he driving and can't pick up the phone?

Did something happen?

I refused to believe anything had happened. I called my brother to make sure nothing was wrong. He told me he was just over our house discussing housing plans with him. Maybe I'm just paranoid.

There's no way Usnavi could do that to himself. All of my nerves had gone haywire, and my wrist was calling for that familiar feel of a sharpness caressing my skin. The relationship of my blade kissing my wrist is like no other, it is to say the least, addicting.

No. I'm already 4 days clean, I can't give up now. I'm making progress. If I give up now they'll put me in an insane asylum.

Just think about your story, I said to myself, figuring that if I have something important on my mind it'll put the whole thing to rest.

The title, pure perfection. I couldn't change it if I tried. It embodies the whole concept perfectly. Someone telling you story in their eyes after you are deceased.

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.