air catcher- phan

two

(Phil)

Who was he?

That boy who spent the entirety of lunch doodling on his arm and turned down the sandwich I offered him. Why did he reject it?

It was because I stuttered, wasn't it? Yeah, it was.

I hated my voice and all the mistakes it made. It was just how I was. Some days I wish I could just be mute. But it would be too hard, seeing as I still have to communicate to get a decent grade and act like I wasn't mentally insane.

Most people frown upon stutterers, but we are normal, functioning humans. We just trip over rocks as our sentences walk out of our mouths. 

An emptiness begins to swallow me as I walk down the sidewalk, heading home from a school day that had lasted too much longer in my mind. I kicked the pebbles on the ground in the same way I wanted to kick away the voices, but that wasn't how it worked to them.

No, wait until I'm home, please, I beg to the voices.

But they are relentless, and know how to take me down.

He didn't want your sandwich because he thought he was more important. You're just a piece of trash in all black clothes. 

No, he didn-

You could have done sooo much better, now you've failed your best attempt at getting a friend.

But-

No buts. When you reflect on life sixty years from now, you will be alone. Humanity hates you. You mean nothing to the world. You are a mistake. The world will be better without you taking up so much air.

No-

YES. IT. WOULD.

My eyes began to mist, and I ran home to hide my tear stained face, stumbling over cracks, pebbles, and my own feet, like the clumsy fool I was. Making mistakes everywhere I go. 

I am such a mistake.

I don't deserve this.

Yes.

Throwing open the door, I threw my backpack into a corner and sprinted upstairs, making sure nobody saw the rivers running down my pale, ugly face. 

I stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. Now three voices fought.

WARNING: SELF HARM TRIGGERS. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE TYPES OF SCENARIOS, PLEASE SKIP AHEAD TO THE BOLDED WORDS.

Hatred was shrieking insults at my body as I reached into the cupboard.

Desire was coaxing me into a sense of comfort in this sharp pain as I extracted the blade.

Common Sense was being drowned as the blade ran down my wrist, letting the pain bring all three voices to the ocean floor, one that was stained with the red blood that leaked out of my arms.

One

Two

Three

Four.

No. I am worse than this.

Five

Six 

Seven.

I begin to feel slightly lightheaded. 

More, you trash.

Eight.

Nine..

Ten...

Eleven....

.

.

.

IF YOU HAVE BEEN AVOIDING READING THE ABOVE SECTION, YOU MAY PROCEED SAFELY.

That's good.

But at the same time, it isn't at all.

A.N.: Wow. That was a hard chapter to write. Dear gosh... 

Anyways, I'll repeat the bold warning thing if I add any other self-harm scenarios. Next chapter will focus on Dan. I don't know if I'll alternate between their POV'S in each chapter. Possibly? Probably.

i just realized: the italic thoughts are like their blurryfaces (or maybe their SQUIPs)

~Izzy