He sits awake at night, thinking of all he has done in the last 17 years of his life. It was a given that he would not be sleeping tonight.
He lies, staring at the whitewashed ceiling wondering where his life went wrong.
He lifts his arms and stares numbly at his wrists. Red, angry marks tainting the pure, pale skin and he realises, maybe he was the mistake...
His eyes water slightly but his face hardens and he blinks the liquid weakness away.
He takes the knife he hides under his socks in the top drawer and stares as the blade reflects the haunting pale light of the moon.
He holds his breath. He holds the knife to his skin. His breath quickens. He drags it across. Just another scar for the road he thought. But he couldn't stop now. It hurt but it felt amazing too. Like the human contradiction he felt like, his brain screamed stop, but his body whimpered in the lust of pain it was trapped in.
He continued to cut. And cut. And cut. More and more. A never ending stream of blood gushing from the wounds he was making.
Cut after cut. Until he realised he was drowsy. Head pounding. No! He didn't want it to go this far... He didn't want to die! But the embrase of the eternal sleep seemed so beautiful to the restless torment he felt in life.
He dropped the knife.
He fell.
His mother found him in a pool of his own blood the next morning...
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Depression Short Stories
Short StoryJust another collection of sad stories for wattpad. *Trigger warning* Read at your own risk.
