It was cold in the hospital that day, the beauty of autumn setting in as a few cyan inklings walk inside the clean white building. Calmly rubbing hand sanitizer on, they proceeded forward to the room that held their friend. With a gentle click of the gray door, a small inkling girl was the first to push through, the other two followed at a similar pace.
Laid on the side table were piles of gifts. Whether from them or from fellow family and friends, there was quite a lot. Namely flowers and mangas. The familiar grumble of hello being absent from the boy below earned a frown from the three who stand over him. A brief sniffle between all three was all that was heard besides the heart monitor and sounds of outside.
Memories always had been nice to think of before this situation, but losing a childhood friend, a highschool friend, any kind of friend was never something they prepared for. Every memory they had to cherish was with this individual. Whether it be him playing games with them throughout every summer break as children, creating the team and striving to be the best, or even when they would watch shows together and read.
Every single one had that one rose in a healthy bloom.
Yet look at the withering on those beautiful petals.
Though ambient for quite the while, one looked up with the deep blue eyes more upset than any of them. The inkling pulled her glasses off to wipe away tears.
"What are we going to do without him?"
She murmured, putting the glasses back on her face to leave the reflection of them to hide her crying. Neither of her friends really replied, unsure themselves of what this meant for their team.
"...It won't be the same, that is for sure."
The other girl murmured, reaching for the hand of her blind friend. She couldn't even offer a smile as she used to, just looking into the reflection until the reflection shimmered away. The two shared no words but had their own conversation in silence.
"You can lead us through though, right Moon?"
The boy asked after a moment of silence, nervously adjusting his headphones.
The girl looked to her friend's ice blue eyes after the question arose, frown quivering as she began tearing up again. That was an answer enough for them all. Team Cyan didn't stay much longer after they had another breakout. It was going to be okay.
After all, tomorrow is another day.
Meanwhile, at home, nothing is the same.
The flips of pages has stopped from the room filled wall to wall with shelves.
The music has stopped from the room filled with glitter and Christmas lights.
The crinkling has stopped from the seat covered in colourful wrappers.
No more is the clicking of a bright mechanical keyboard.
Now the soft sobs of a flame reduced to ash lay in the room of knowledge.
Now the silence of packed bags haunts the room once filled with joyful laughter.
Now the silent thoughts of an early old man fog the room of calm life.
Now the countless wires are left without electricity in the room of escapism.
Where the lights of home would turn on at seven-thirty usually, without everyone who made this place a home to begin with, it was just a house. Clicking of a clock, the brief smell of dust, a soft wisp of a torn family flourishing the sadness. It is almost like it's abandoned. To the ones who live there, it is.
Today the ashes sat alone on their once clean bed in the room of knowledge, gently setting a round vinyl record on an old player. The dust on the needle was gently rubbed away before it was set on the record gently, slowly beginning to spin on its point. The faint static faded into soft music, allowing the burnt ashes of flame to flop onto the bed and relax.
While he usually would read a book at this time, he couldn't bring himself to look at one anymore. The enjoyment he once got from enveloping himself into a story beyond this world was no longer there. There was no purpose for it. Just him and real-life thoughts now. He could only wonder where the pink flowers were in the garden and if the blue rose bush would grow back into his life. He just turned up the music's volume gently.
The music would hit the ears of the man downstairs, but he would not react to the beauty of the 1800s. His tired purple eyes scanned his rough hands gently as he lay in the world of lonesome sulking. Time goes by quickly, but he did not have anywhere to go now. His clock was timeless now. While he knew he could have died when he was 30, the love and joy had died sooner than his body. This world did not have opinions on it's inhabitants, all were equal as they say.
So as a child is a know it all, or a joyful trickster, or a quiet crybaby, or even a reserved peace finder, they can all drain away at different paces. The world does not pick these times that they leave their souls behind, the world only picks what hurdle they must get over. If the child fails well...
They become like him.
They become too old too young.
Yet, their bodies do not rot away, but their mental state withers away like a beautiful rose in a forgotten garden.
The reflective glitter shimmered off the dull skin of a lost soul, a broken Disco ball, his perfectly grey eyes watching the golden sun rays of the world pass by. The ocean's lovely blue reflected the sun and sky in a beautiful shine, yet water is only reflective. It is clear, transparent, boring. So why can't the lost soul just be like water? Maybe if he were to cover himself in enough glitter, enough to make a child smile at their birthday, perhaps he'd be able to smile. If only the birthday cake wasn't stale.
His hand absentmindedly dragged across the sand, he sat on, making dragged palm marks in the grainy rock. The beach once made him so much happier, but it was so off in the ambient area. Not to mention the cold weather as he snuggles in his Aloha shirt. He wanted to go home, but he shut himself off from his boyfriends and he knew Diver didn't deserve to deal with his sulking.
Like something possessed them all at once,
A waterfall poured from the ash's eyes.
The face of the early old man became beyond upset.
The glitter of the disco ball began to wash away with the sadness.
There was nothing left for them to do but cry for the wilted after all.
Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it-
QUIT IT PLEASE QUIT IT-!
He finds himself falling still.
The thin strings are choking him still.
The thin strings are too tight for his neck still.
Those strings aren't harmless anymore.
Were they ever?
Those strings in his arms are going to tear out soon. They're so tight he can just feel it. How is he even alive? Keeping the air flowing has been futile. Weakly, he opens his eyes ever so softly. The cloudiness of the navy blue of his iris creates more of a cool silver if anything. It's so tiring. All he can see is darkness. Why did it go this way?
Against the current of air, he weakly lifted his tangled hands to his neck to try ripping and tearing at the strings, his throat, anything. All that happened was the circulation of his fingers being cut off as the tangles get worse. He began screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, but all that came was a choked whimper.
Heartrate.
Breathe.
Heartrate.
Breathe.
Heartrate
BREATHE.
I CAN'T BREATHE.
PLEASE LET ME BREATHE!
YOU ARE READING
Why can't I just die?
FanfictionTRIGGERS: Suicide via Overdosing. Mask has always been a downer, always been one to hate on other's happy lives. Because he's never had his own happy life. As he spiral down into painful madness, all he can think about is the next breath, the next e...
