One Shot Book (Danti/Septiplier)

Spiral

~ Antisepticye and Jacksepticeye One Shot ~

1270 Words

* Possibly Triggering, Mentions Of Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts And Hearing Voices: Read With Caution, Stay Safe, Stay Alive *

Jack's POV:

Air hit my body, attempting to push me to the side. Knuckles white from my tight grasp on the large metal bar beside me, the tips of my ears turning pink from the cold, my eyes scanned over my surroundings. It was a freezing night, the sky painted black, littered with tiny white dots. The only light came from beneath me, beneath the large bridge I stand on. Lights of red and yellow fled from the noisy streets below, the sound of automobiles rushing along the highway.

Inhaling a simple breath of the crisp night air, I closed my eyes, just listening and feeling, one last time.

What exactly are you doing?

"Existing," I replied simply to the voice that hissed at the back of my head.

Why? Isn't that why we're here? To stop that?

He had a point, he always did, "Yes. I just wanted to exist for a few more moments."

So you're stalling.

"No."

Are you going to back out now?

"No, of course not. I want this, just like you do. Release from the 'spiral."

Thats what we refer to it as, life is the spiral. Continually winding in a circle, gradually gradually tightening and expanding from a single point. The point is you, the center of a blank piece of paper, the world keeps expanding around you as you begin swirling a pencil around the center of that paper, allowing more people and things into your life, tightening, holding its grip on you, endlessly spinning until you put a stop to it, take your pencil off the page. You have the power to do that, I have the power to do that, pick up my pencil and cease its circling, that's what Anti told me.

"Take your pencil off the page," he'd tell me so often. His voice is so deep and almost demonic sounding. It was startling, being only 6 when I first started hearing him in my mind, telling me things about my life that I was so blind to. Like how my mother is being to controlling, how my family is disappointed, and that all my friends are just pretending to like me. That nobody loves me.

Anti is smart. He's trustable. My only friend that's stuck with me, the only one who's been honest with me. After all, he's gotten me through everything, giving me a nice hobby that caused me to start collecting scars like photographs. Each of my scars has a story and, well, let's just say I have a lot of stories. I wish they were scars from being adventurous, doing rock climbing or fighting a badger, but, alas, they're just from the bad moments I've had.

Three long lines going horizontally across my pale forearm, those were from my mental breakdown in the bathroom by the school gym. Anti told me my body was gross compared to everyone else's in the locker room and that some scars would make me look better. So, I went to the bathroom, letting a few tears out in the process, holding my arm above the rusting sink, and pulled the tiny, sharp silver object out of my phone case.