Book of One-Shots

Broken Friendship (OLD)

Steven flopped down on his bed and sighed. He felt tired and hungry, and he just wanted to die. He's felt worse these past three weeks than he's ever felt in the past two years.

He ignored his stomach letting out a growl and rolled over onto his side. The gems weren't home, they never seemed to be anymore. He felt lonely, he had nobody to talk to. He missed his best friend.

Connie. He didn't want to think about her. After all this time he still cares about her despite everything she did. They were great friends for a long time, he still wonders what happened to her that made her act like such a jerk.

It's been around ten months since they got along and were friends, yet he's still hurting. He's been trying his best to get over it, but he just can't seem to stop stressing about it. She told him to kill himself, she told him she wouldn't care.

He's tried. Three times.

Each time he's failed, the doors are too short and the rope is just a bit too long to hang his body properly. He wants to do it so bad but he can't because nothing will work. He knows nobody would notice, and he definitely knows Connie wouldn't care.

Connie would probably laugh. Laugh about how much he deserved it. How worthless he is and how she never cared for him. The thought of that made him feel much worse.

He hated feeling this way. Nothing was helping him. Nothing at all seemed to be working. He knew this would be the death of him. He knew that eventually he'd stop trying to hang himself and just go find another way.

Maybe he could place a bag over his head. Maybe he could drink some kind of poison. Stab himself, drown himself, jump off a cliff, he could do tons of stuff. He could even just wait until the diamonds come to Earth and shatter him or something.

Steven just rolled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he was lucky enough it would cave in on him. Just collapse right on top of him and kill him instantly. That'd be nice, wouldn't it?

He looked over toward the kitchen. There were knives in there, maybe he could just grab one and stab himself right in the stomach. It wouldn't be that hard, and he was tempted to. He managed to get himself to sit up and continue to stare at the kitchen.

After a while, he finally got up. Slowly, he carefully walked over there and went up to the knife holder that was next to the sink. He stared at it for a moment before looking back, making sure nobody was around.

He took a deep breath and turned back toward the knives. He grabbed the biggest one he found and carefully pulled it out.

He held it in his hand and carefully walked over to the bathroom. Peridot wasn't there, she was out and about in Beach City just doing whatever she normally does when she's around people.

He sat the knife on the sink and then locked the bathroom door behind him. He turned around and sat on the toilet seat and picked up the knife. He looked down at his hand and for a while he just sat there and stared at it.

Eventually, he stopped staring and carefully slid the knife all the way across his hand. It hurt, and it felt like his hand was on fire. He bit his lip, forcing the tears not to come out. Blood was seeping down his hand and dripping onto the floor below.

After the pain had calmed down a bit, he started toward his arm. He started to slide the knife down his arm in a vertical direction and he pressed as hard as he could inside. He had trouble, and he could've sworn that he was touching some extremely tough muscle if not his bone.

He let out a cry of laughter. It hurt. It hurt so much, it felt like his entire arm was on fire, and he started to feel lightheaded. He hated it, but he knew he deserved it. He deserved everything.

Quickly, he jerked the knife out of his arm as fast as he could and watched the blood ooze out. He smiled and laughed, this was how he was going to die, and he knew he had to make the most out of the situation while he could.

With what strength he had left, he started to stab himself in many different places as hard as he could. His leg, his chest, his stomach, and even his eye. He was bleeding out everywhere, and his entire body burned and ached.

He eventually couldn't hold himself up on the toilet seat and he fell on the blood soaked floor in front of him. His vision was getting hazy and he was wheezing out small breaths of air. He thought he heard voices that sounded like the gems and his dad.

He thought maybe he heard that they were asking where he was. He didn't know though, his ears were starting to ring and everything that was being said sounded fuzzy and distorted.

He felt his eyes starting to get heavy. He knew this was it, he knew this was going to be the last moment of his life ever. He could've sworn he heard Connie's voice in the distance though, saying something that he couldn't quite make out.

It sounded like she was happy.

Happy that he wasn't there.

Happy that he was dying.

...

Happy that he was dead.