A little piece I came up with the other day when I was in a depressed state of mind. I decided to take it out on the keyboard and this is what I came up with.

The boy sighed heavily, his hot breath warming his arms up in the freezing cold. He sat with his legs crossed, his arms laying gently on his two thighs. He was sitting in the lush green grass under the night sky. Other than the occasional scurrying of a small rodent or a car passing by as it’s headlights flashed on the boy’s face, it was a solitary, secluded, and quiet place. You could even say it was peaceful.

But on this night, it wasn’t even close to peaceful. He had his red and black headphones in, blasting rock music as he looked up into the night sky at the stars. There was always a rumor that every star represented an angel, looking down at you. The boy thought it to be a myth, but on this particular night he had hoped it was true. He hoped it was true because he knew he wasn’t going to be on this earth soon, and he hoped that he would become one of those stars.

He sighed. He would wipe the tears from his eyes if he had any. He never teared up. Ever. He always just took all he had inside and buried it deep into the depths of soul, never to be seen or heard from again. Unless someone unknowingly brings it back, when in which he lashes out violently. He never let anyone know his feelings.

But on this particular day, it all came crashing down. As the blowing wind rolled the empty white pill bottles scattered across the lush green grass, and blood trickled down his wrists from the now bloodied razor blade, The boy began to remember all of the times he was rejected for no reason. Maybe because he wasn’t popular enough, maybe because he simply wasn’t good enough. He could believe both scenarios. He remembered the times where he was left alone. Where none of his friends seemed to be around for him to talk to. Where when the demons of his head were starting to get to him and his sanity was being slowly hacked away, it was increased by the fact that every time he looked at his phone there was no messages, no calls. There was no acknowledgement of his existence.

He remembered his over emotional nature. He was so sensitive, the slightest thing could set him off the deep end. But people still mess with him more, knowing this. The girls, so beautiful, that he gets emotionally attached to. They would only be with him out of pity, giving him what he wanted for a few weeks. Soon, they dump him to the curb like he was never anything to them, and then he realized it was never real. They never cared. And his heart broke again, only to be sewed and stitched up once again. His heart had so many stitches, he swore he had stitches over some of the stitches.

The beat of the rock music rang against his ears, almost egging him on as he brought the razor blade down on a uninjured part of his wrist. A clean, smooth part of his tan skin. He sliced, blood spurting from the new wound as it gushed blood with the other wounds.

The reason he was most upset, wasn’t any of the reasons he stated above. Not the rejection, his overemotional nature, or not even nobody caring. It was the fact that he had turned into this. He used to be so outgoing, such a free spirit. But the depths of hell grabbed his ankles and heaved, pulling him down into a depressing spiral that never ended. The demons in his head had eventually crippled his sanity, and nobody’s intervention made it worse for him. Nobody cared, that’s what it was. Yes, he convinced himself of that fact. Nobody cared.

As the demons swirled around him, he began to feel the urge to end it tonight. Right here, right now. Tonight. He knew nobody would even care about his essential nonexistence. He knew if he ended it all right now, nobody would even know for quite some time, because none of his “friends” would even care to ask. The demons in his mind kept screaming at him to do it, that nobody would ever give two shits and that he should end it all while people still at least acted like they cared. They said that his life was never going anywhere and it was time. Time to end it all. Tonight.

The young man, probably only 16 upon further examination, looked down at his hands. A full pill bottle in one hand, one bottle away from over dose, and a razor blade in the other. His once energetic brown eyes now seemed tired. Destroyed. Like he didn’t want to live, which was exactly what it was. He blew the brown bangs out of his face as he reached in his pocket and checked his phone. He immediately went to his messages.

No New Messages.

He sighed and looked down. For the first time in years, he found a tear rolling down his cheek, onto his lips, the salt taste going onto his tongue, making a streak on his face. As he began to feel himself losing his last shred of sanity, He looked at his phone again, hoping to god he was only hallucinating. He needed somebody right now. Someone to care that he had been out of site for days. But it seemed like nobody had even cared. He hoped, now of all times, that someone did.

No New Messages.

Out of pure anger and depression, built up for the recent few years of his life, he grabbed the phone, wrapping his hand around it. He cocked back his arm before flinging it, the phone slipping from his fingertips. His throw went a good 20 feet, into a nearby tree, where the cell phone surprisingly didn’t break, only bounced and fell to the ground. He stared at it, before looking back down.

He uncapped the pill bottle as more tears rolled down his face. He threw all the pills down his throat at once, with no water to wash it down. He hoped that maybe the choking would end it quicker than the pills themselves, but alas, it didn’t. Soon, one by one the pills fell down his throat, and he was left coughing up blood from the scrapings his throat endured. As all of the pills went into his stomach, he realized fully that this was it. This grass, under these stars, this would be his resting place.

As the beat of the rock music continued, the young boy placed the cold metal onto his wrists again.

And again, he cut, as his eyes began to droop.

This was nicely written, however, the emotions that he portrayed almost felt bland but I understood the emotion you were trying to convey. Tbh, I feel for the character you portrayed here and it made me sad for it to end this way.

Thanks dude! Its a bit unorganized cuz at the point i wrote it i was depressed, so i thought actually pouring my feelings onto the keyboard would portray the story better.

You definitely got your emotions to the page, and this is a nice "on the spot" kind of writing.

I don't suport emo self cutting but, what I saw on the peice seems pretty legit.