Hanging Soul

Untitled Part 1

A groan slipped past Kusuke's  chapped lips, the obnoxious noise awaking him from his peaceful sleep. Subconsciously, he reached his shaky hand out, slamming it down on the alarm, silencing it. The sudden deafening silence sent shivers running down his fragile spine, unsettling him. Reluctantly, he fluttered his eyelids open, glancing at the red numbers displayed on his ruptured alarm clock. 4:25. He groaned silently, his eyes automatically fluttering closed. He didn't want to leave the his bed .He didn't want to move. It was like large ball of heavy metal was strapped onto his weak chest, paralysing him. Knives buried into his scarred wrists, pinning him down. Every time he tried to move, the ball of steel would get heavier.... and the blades would dig in deeper.... He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on for... This miserable life was coming to a dark tunnel, with no way out, the end blocked off.... Everything was useless. The only way he know how to get rid of the pain, was something he had been delaying for months. But now.... he couldn't avoid it any longer. He could no longer brush it off as his plan B. He need to leave. Urgently. The only reason he has left to live is his little brother . His only source of entertainment . Kusuo only saw him as a sadistic masochist freak . Not even his last will liked him .

Sighing dis-heartedly, his tired eyes fluttered open once again, the dull orbs drained of all life, dancing around his despairing lab. The curtains were still drawn, allowing none of the moonlight to enter his miserable soul. The only source of light were the small stars that peeked through the cracks. Beside the window was a shattered mirror, which made any reflection corrupt. Shards of the glass laid abandoned on the dusty floor, collecting all the dirt it had been laying on. The blonde couldn't remember how it got broken. All he knew is it had been for a while. Around the dim room, were parts of unfinished inventions which were slowly starting to bore him by day , his motivation to finish them were becoming none existent .

Using every frail muscle in his decaying ,starved body, he were able to sit himself up. That was a good start. Swinging his legs off the mattress, he was met with a cold tingling in his toes. He was touching the floor. Breathing heavily, he began to stand up- knees shaking and threatening to buckle. Why was it so hard? He should feel motivated. He would finally be at peace after all. Gulping down a lump in his throat, he strode towards the desk across his lab, kicking used, bloody bandages out of his way. Feet trampling over bloodstains. Band-Aids sticking onto the bottom of his heel. Trying not to distract himself, he slowly pulled the chair out from under the desk, listening to the violent screech of the metal chair leg scraping against his floor. Holding back the bone rattling shiver, he slowly sat down, trying to ground his dangerous thoughts. Ah! In the top draw.

Nodding to himself, he reached towards his trembling hands to the handle of the top draw. Through this whole time he felt no emotions, blank. Numb. His heart and brain robbed of any feelings. It felt like his body was on autopilot, not being able to change anything his body was doing. Gentle fingers scoped out smooth sheets of paper, with delicate writing on the lines. A pile around 15cms high. Letting the sheets glide onto the rotting wood, he began reading through one. He spent his free time when he wasn't planning of ways to beat Kusuo writing suicide notes upon suicide notes. They didn't change much, however the tones would change from happy, to angry, to depressed... So which one would he choose? Perhaps the one where he explain all his actions and what he had been through? No- too much pity. Maybe the one were he cussed out everyone for being a dick to him? No- this wasn't anyone's fault but his own. So maybe the one where he confesses his love to Kusuo- fuck no, he couldn't put that pressure onto him like that... There was a possibility Kusuo already knew . His whole life is based around him anyway . But if his parents were to find the note then that would be deeply disturbing .Maybe the plain, 'I'm sorry that I left but you can all be happy now' type. Sighing, he gathered the unused notes and stuffed them into the draw. He wasn't worried about them looking through his stuff because... well... none of them cared enough.