Book of One-Shots

Mutilated (OLD)

K.O. stood there in front of the mirror, alone in the bathroom once again. He sighed and looked down at his hand, which was covered in stitches from the many times he had tried to off himself by cutting off bits of his fingers and even his wrist one time.

He then looked at his right eye, which was missing and replaced with a button with a large x going through the center, which was basically what kept it attached to his head. It was from the time where he had stabbed his eye out and held it in his hand as blood kept leaking out from it. Dry blood stains were still visible around the button as well, which always reminded K.O. of just how much blood he had lost that day.

He looked at his chest, which had a bunch of stitches around it with an x in the middle of all the stitches. He had to have his shirts cut in a way in which the stitches and x were visible and were able to get air. If he wore his shirt normally, it would rub against the stitches and open up his chest once again, leaving him free to try and pull what was left of his ribcage out.

He then looked down at his leg, which still had the stitches from when he slit his leg open and started rubbing mud all over it. His leg was infected by the time they got him to the hospital, and he didn't know why they didn't amputate it. Maybe because he already had enough bad stuff happen to him and they didn't want to harm him any more than they already have.

The fact that the stitches went all the way down to his ankle could've been another reason they decided not to amputate it. He would've lost a whole leg and not just half of one like you normally see. He still wished they have though, maybe he would've died when they were cutting it off and maybe he would be dead already.

After that, he felt the top of his head. His hair was parted down the middle since he had to get stitches to stitch his head back together after he kept on banging it against a board full of nails. He still doesn't know how he managed to survive it and how they managed to still keep him alive after that.

He then looked at his other arm, which had many, many cuts on it from the past few years. It was covered in so many that it looked like his arm had been completely ripped of flesh.

He clenched his fist, trying his best to understand how he was still alive. Maybe he didn't need to try so hard, maybe all he needed was to be pushed off a building or be shot or stabbed in the head.

Maybe something as simple as that would kill him, but he would honestly never know. The only part of him that wasn't that bad was his right leg, but even then it was wrapped up in bandages because his leg never healed properly when he broke it as an infant and it always hurt to walk on it.

He didn't understand why it was so hard to just simply die and why his body would refuse to let him. It was all he wanted, to feel the sweet release of death.

But he was taught he could never get what he wanted.

And he was taught it the hard way.