- 29 Different Ways to Like a Psycho -

23- glassy!

Microphone's P.O.V:

it's the girl i saw. that same green glass bottle of perfume. but now, she's cracked everywhere, dark green liquid spilling out from a few of the cracks. her face is serious, yet emotionless at the same time. she looks fine, yet she looks like she's on the verge of tears. she's smiling, yet she's frowning at the same time. every feature about her just leads me to more questions, driving me deeper into my thoughts, throwing me off track.

her looks are meant to deceive. to make this easier for her.

"took you long enough. you had your chances for escape, and you passed by them, not noticing shit. now you will have to pay for your ignorance."

i feel the tip of a sharp blade lightly poke my cheek. it glides along my skin smoothly and slowly before it suddenly scrapes deeply across my face, leaving a slash, deep red. all i can feel is pain building up in that area. it hurts so bad, it makes me want to rip my entire fucking face off. i want to cry, to bury my face deep into a pillow and cry out every single struggle i've bottled up over the span of my life. but doing anything like that at this particular time  would make me look weak, helpless, anything you can think of that describes a person who can't defend or save themselves from anything that comes their way. like me. anyone else i know would have already been fighting and punching the door to leave. but not me, because what can i do at a time like this, right?

the answer? nothing.

a grin slowly starts to fill her face. she can see right through me. she knows i cant do shit about anything at this point.

"i'm dying at how much you try, but still end up doing nothing. you make yourself look absurd, dear. do you want shit easier for you?"

??? P.O.V:
All I can hear is the loud noises from the windy air swiftly going by. My body gets more numb as I push though the coldness of the night, one like any other I've experienced.

Finally I can see it in the distance, giving me the urge to walk faster, get somewhere with at least a bit better circumstances than out here.

I open the door to enter my lame excuse of a house. Paying rent has been getting more difficult lately as the prices rise up. The snow falls off of my head as I enter the building. The floorboards creak as I walk along the floor. I'm greeted with the feeling of despair as I study the emptiness of the place. No electricity, no water sometimes, and a limited amount of food. With everything else that has to be paid for, food is the least of my worries right now. I can survive some time starving myself. If I get hungry enough, I'll eat a little bit.

That is, if I feel like it. To be honest, all I want to do it lay down in my bed, fall asleep, and never wake up again or wake up at a time where things could be easier.

If there ever does happen to be a time as unreal as that.

Out of nowhere, she walks to me. My dead sister. I'm seeing shit again, aren't I? I can't let it fool me. I know for a fact that that...thing...isn't truly her. It's only my mind filling up the empty spaces around me, to sugarcoat everything when I know it's hopeless.

But, am I? All this shit I deal with on a daily basis is still a bit sugarcoated? It's worse than this? What could possibly be worse? I get kicked out of my property because I couldn't pay rent on time? I've dealt with living in poverty before. This house is like luxury to me. Is there anything worse, really?

Only one thing that seems to be clear: I need money urgently, or life may turn around on me again. From what I've experienced, working isn't doing shit for me. I should use a method that would get me large sums of money quickly. My life would actually be thriving and enjoyable for the first time.

First thing that comes to mind is becoming a druglord or drug dealer. Sort of like Pablo Escobar, being met with sky-high stacks of money. I would never have to worry about spending habits again. I'd be so rich, I could just throw one hundred dollar bills on the ground and never suffer financially from it.

Only problem is I would have a high risk of being arrested or killed. I don't have anyone to work with to deal drugs on the street, and I am too small and weak to defend myself if I were to be a dealer.

Then, a extremely psychopathical thing idea hits me.

Harvest organs.

No. How could I ever think about something as violent as this? I have already been freed from the psych ward, I shouldn't even be thinking anything like this. I can't be.

I don't want to go back there. Never again in that hellhole. It did anything but help me. How was I even allowed to leave? Deep down, I feel worse now than I did before the ward.

I picture it, double vision, ears ringing, no one in sight, nothing.

I don't even know anymore. Let my thoughts win, and I would see myself back there again. Don't, and I'll eventually die of something, whether it be hunger or hypothermia. I can't remember the last time I've eaten, last time I felt joy, last time there weren't scratches and cracks littered on my body and limbs. My body rots in the dark abyss of my house, begging for something more, something better than this shit. So tell me, now does it seem sugarcoated? I know for a fact that life is in a constant 'brawl' with me. And life's in the lead. I, on the other hand, am on the ground, mouth bloody, teeth knocked out, head forcefully pounding against the sides of my skull, desperately trying to release itself. Feels similar, like getting a knife stabbed repeatedly in your abdomen. Blood spews out of the wound, but the knife keeps on going.

In and out.

In and out.

in......a....nd....out....

Now the room is red. With your insides. The metallic smell comes entirely from you.

Death is waiting.

.