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(Page 2 of 2) Suicide by Tyler Vaughn
 (4 ratings)
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Nobody knew of his plans. They'd never know unless he told them. People could be so wrapped up in their own worlds at times. He laughed mirthlessly. They were the people who believed him to be intelligent... strong. He thought these people were fools. Fools who believed that they saw the beauty of life. Fools who accept everything that's in front of them. Fools who never knew what pain and loneliness meant.
Was this cowardice? He asked himself as he let his fingertips graze the drops of blood on his hand. Suicide was for cowards who run away from their problems. Was he a coward? Was he running away from it all? He frowned. No. This was valor. He was fighting back. He was a prisoner of people's expectations. Tonight, that would no longer be the case. He let his soul burn to own it.
He gripped the handle tightly. His hand held it steady, its point aimed at his heart. He was aware, alert. Open. It's all going to end, he said to himself. It will.
He saw each drop of blood on the blade, his calm reflection on the tainted steel. He could hear every beat of his heart. Every moan of the wind. Every rustling of the leaves. The soft breathing of the people he will leave forever. He left them no note because he can't bring himself to say goodbye. He already left them with memories. They were enough. His words – they were all here. They spoke for him. Now the world was going to know he lived when his breath has left him. It was near. So very near. He was waiting for death to come through his door. It will come. It would never slip away... it was near. Unbearably near. As near as he had imagined it a million times. Death. An old friend. He died a little each day. He might as well make it reality. He had waited for it. Now he was ready. The world didn't know that prisoner was going to escape. She didn't know that he will die in order to live.
The first rays of the dawn store on the crimson droplets splattered on the knife. His life – written in blood. It had all ended.
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