Colors

Chapter 1

A/N: this chapter talks about suicide and self harm so if you are uncomfortable with these topics, please refrain from reading :)

There is a song in this chapter, Lithium by Nirvana. I suggest playing the song while you read it, a slowed version:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cl-kuV0y2vM

This is only a suggestion. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

As he laid on the cold tiles of his bathroom, the only thing he could do was remember his distant childhood and listen to the Nirvana song playing from the other room.

In movies characters said that when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but that usually happens with quick deaths, like a gunshot to the head or a lethal attack from an enemy.

George's death wasn't fast, no: it was slow. There were many tall buildings, train tracks and rivers where he lived. Instead he decided to go with a slow, painful process, therefore George was savoring each depressing moment in his miserable life, slowly.

He was colourblind, so some colours were dull to him. If he added that to his depression that emerged in his late teens, he could say that his life was gray, monotone. His life didn't have any meaning.

He remembered his parents fighting. All the time. Sometimes his younger self wished that he could have disappeared on the spot so he didn't have to listen to them. His father died when George was 21 and his mother didn't care about him so he was alone.

He had managed to find a job in a music shop owned by one of his friends. That was one of the only good things in his daily life. He could spend hours there listening to different CDs, records and cassettes of various rock artists from the 90s.

Sometimes a customer just as fond for music as he was would come in looking for some obscure track. Only those moments brought him an ounce of joy but they were rare and didn't last very long.

Even though he loved music he didn't play any instrument. He listened to music every day, during every break he had at work, in the car, while cooking food, changing clothes, showering and even while trying to fall asleep. He usually listened to the one playlist filled with a few hundred songs that he liked, the same group of artists that played mostly rock and metal. He liked to focus on the words so he could deduce the different meaning the lyrics could have, asking himself why the artist chose those words.

Why was he thinking about these things? Was his mind trying to convince him to not give up by reminding him of all the songs, notes, chords and lyrics he would leave behind?

It was too late anyway. 20 minutes ago he had watched the glass cut through his skin in a clean, almost satisfying way, the red liquid dripping down from his wrists onto his forearm. He had felt himself getting dizzy and lightheaded so he sat down. He had blacked out for  some time and then when he woke up he found himself lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling.

The bathroom light was bright and the details of his surroundings were getting blurry. He didn't have any energy left to move his bloody arms and the large shard of glass rested lightly against his left hand.

He finally felt his consciousness slipping away for the last time but something brought him back to reality: a loud knock at his front door and a muffled voice that he could barely hear beneath the Nirvana song. The only words he could make out were "Hello?" and "Okay?".

He didn't care. If he ignored the person at his door they would eventually leave... would they? He didn't want to care about them in the last moments of his life so he focused on the lyrics of the song.

As he did that he felt his eyelids getting heavier.

"I like it, I'm not gonna crack"

The song really was good.

"I miss you, I'm not gonna crack"

The song talked about not giving up. How ironic.

"I love you, I'm not gonna crack"

George heard a loud noise and loud footsteps running towards him. "Just leave me alone" he thought "let me listen to this song in peace. Let me die in peace".

"I killed you, I'm not gonna crack"

And the song finished. The bathroom door opened and someone shook him, trying to pull him out of his semi-conscious state. As soon as they realized that there wasn't any point in doing that, George heard them dialing a number and then talking fast, as if they were worried about him. That was probably what annoyed him the most about some people: unconditional kindness. Why did they care? They were willing to help strangers, forgive people who hurt them. He didn't hate those kinds of people, he just couldn't understand them.

At that point George passed out. In the millisecond before that he was happy for once, happy that he could finally let go, not worry about anything or anyone. That he could disappear. Leave this miserable, monotone world.

Well, he was wrong.