Disturbing Dreams: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

Kill Yourself

*Trigger Warning!!* Please do not read on if you are uncomfortable or extremely disturbed by suicide and other things like self harm, abuse, etc

Life consists of constant pain.  Don't believe the people that say that as kids mature, they'll become kinder. People are who they are. Nothing can change that.

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The workers huddled in a circle in an alleyway across from their office. It started off as a mindless game. Then it became more of a stress reliever. At any rate, it was fun. Kicking their smaller coworker as he huddled down into the hard ground was comforting, in a way. It gave the workers the illusion that they were in power, that they had control.

The small man on the ground coughed up dark blood as the workers kicked, hit, and cut him. His glassy eyes streamed with tears, his mouth begging them to stop. It was their cruel ritual. After work, every day, somehow managing to find the man, beating him within every inch of his life. Nobody had ever said anything against it. People walked by every day, during this. Some would walk past, not noticing, some would glance over, not really noticing what they were seeing, and some would stare for a long time at the scene. A man, hunched over, covered in blood, his coworkers standing around him with glass bottles, shoes drenched with his blood and sweat intermingled. Nobody ever stopped to help.

After about an hour, the workers stopped, leaving the man behind them in the gritty dust. They never left a scratch on his face, only his body, hiding their offense. Their loud voices laughed uproariously as they walked off towards the nearest bar. As the last one left, he called back to the man. "Pathetic sh*t. Why don't you do everybody a favor and just kill yourself?" He walked off, joining his friends, most likely bragging about this last verbal abuse.

The man stood up from the sharp gravel, painfully, his legs struggling to support his body. Nobody had ever bothered to ask his name. He had no family, all gone from a cruel disease. No friends, no love. He was an invisible speck in the seemingly infinite world. 

Staggering out of the small alley, wrapping his thick coat around his shaking, cut-up skin, the Man walked slowly home. At his small, shack of a house, he collapsed on his couch, his blood soaking into the worn cushions. He didn't care. He would leave it all behind, in a few minutes. Hands shaking, he found the thick rope he had bought yesterday.

Using his mind more than he ever had in the past year, he slid a small notebook out from the cushion of the couch. Opening it, small doodles and notes filled the ripped page. All of them were various methods of suicide. He grabbed the rope and his small iPhone in his hand. His eyes staring at the blue light of the screen, he followed its instructions exactly, typing the complex knot in the rope, creating a medium-sized noose. He wandered into his small bedroom, no qualms about what he was about to do. The Man tied the end of the rope to his ceiling fan. He placed a sturdy chair underneath the rope and ceiling fan, breathing steadily.

The Man stood on the chair, and placed the rope around his neck, and glanced around the ugly room with scorn. The chair was kicked over, and his feet floated over the ground, slightly twitching. His face was pale and everything that was left in his bladder emptied itself. His tongue flopped out of his mouth. It didn't take long. He was slightly overweight and never struggled. 

His body hung in the small apartment. Flies investigated his every cavity, entranced by the bloody flesh hung like bait for them. His dead eyes stared blankly at the ground, bulging a bit. 

By two hours later, he was still long dead. Suddenly, his feet twitched. They twitched again. His dead, shaky hand lifted, all the blood from his body was practically on the floor, but here he was, moving. His hand stretched towards a sharp knife reflecting the sun on the nearby wooden shelf (from a former suicide attempt). His hand closed around the blade and his pale, sunken arm raised up to cut himself down. The Man's eyes were still glazed over. He was still dead. The rope was severed in half by the blade and the Man dropped to the floor.