Light Behind The Dark

9

[][][][][]

As he held the sharp, shiny blade, Chris's hands were shaking and his tear stained face was now covered with sweat.

He started inching the blade to his stomach. He wanted to untangle the knots he felt, with the sharpness of the blade. As his hands inched closer to help the blade reach its destination, he felt the years of torture and torment he was put through, comeback in the form of flashbacks. The years of pain and tears. Misery and suffering. 

Years filled with blood oozing out of wounds that never seemed to heal.

The time when his mother died, it all started. And then came his best friend's death, not even a few days later. The day after Josh's death, his other friends left him because they were all sad, he thought they would come back, that they would console him. Little did he realize that Josh was his glue to a normal life and after he died, he lost all connection to the world. 

He was first bullied in grade two by a boy who was two years older. He pushed little Chris aside in the cafeteria and Chris with his food, fell down and everyone laughed at him. Now, Chris wished that the extent of bullying remained on the same level. But as he grew, it became severe. People started stabbing him with pencils until there was blood or a bruise, commenting on his bruises, making fun of his dead mother, calling him names, pushing him to his limits so he would break down in front of everyone to prove how weak he is.

There was even a time when a few boys cornered him and beat him up badly. So badly that he limped and walked for two weeks because he didn't have money to go to the hospital. That was two years ago, before he found a job. Now all the money he earns is quickly stolen by his father. And then there she was, his art teacher, haunting him. The dirty images of what happened yesterday flashed right in front of his eyes.

As all these thoughts and images ran through his brain, he snickered as tears ran down his face. What's the use of living when there's not even one good thing to think about even while dying? Not one happy moment which he can reminisce. How can he live in such a world? He's too weak to survive. 

But strong enough to give up.

His hands still shaking, inched the blade a little more so it was just an inch or half away from the fabric of his shirt. Just when he got the strength to push the blade further, he heard a sound he's never heard before.

The sound of receiving message on his phone.

[][][][][]