My American Idiot ~ Septiplier

29

Warning: Suicidal Thoughts

Jack P.O.V

Night was falling by the time Jack managed to hitchhike his way a few towns over. He didn't catch the name of the place, nor did he really care, but thankfully it seemed just quiet enough; not large enough to be called a town but still not small enough to be named a village and all in all quite similar to the one he'd just left. The buildings were mostly two storeys tall apart from a couple of apartment complexes that lined the edge of town and Jack had already earned himself a few strange glances from some of the locals as he walked along the pavement. It was probably the green hair that did it.

Still, he'd spotted a few local motels in the area that he could probably crash in later, but instead of going towards them immediately something else caught his eye.

There was a little children's play park not far away from where his latest kind stranger dropped him off, a few little kids racing around and scrambling up the climbing frames, practically screeching with glee. Jack didn't know why, but he found himself walking in through the little metal gate, the hinges squealing in protest as he did so and causing several of the children to glace up from their play to stare at him curiously.

He ignored them as best he could, keeping his eyes glued to the ground as he walked with his hands deep in his pockets over to a little wooden picnic bench, hidden by an overgrown clump of trees that had carpeted the ground with their amber leaves in the past few weeks. Jack's feet crunched with every step he took before he sat himself down on the damp wood, hating the feeling of the water seeping through his trousers. No one would find him here.

The green haired Irishman sighed, holding his head in his hands as he listened to the distant obnoxious laughter echoing from where the children played.

The truth was that running away didn't feel as good as Jack thought it would.

Of course in books and movies everyone seemed to preach about how good a fresh start was and how you could build yourself a completely new life and identity from scratch with nothing more than determination and a certain degree of charm. Jack knew that wasn't true; he wasn't that stupid. But he had expected to feel at least a little better about where his life was going, he wanted to feel like he had a future now; a brighter one. That obviously wasn't the case.

He felt like an absolute fucking coward.

Guilt sat in his stomach like a stone, the weight making his shoulders slump and his mind replying yesterday's events on repeat like a broken record, a constant reminder of just how much he'd fucked things up. He found himself caught up in a never ending loop of self-pity and guilt that filled his head with bitter thoughts heavy with self-loathing and regret.

What the fuck was he thinking? He pointed a fucking gun at Mark. He'd had his finger on the fucking trigger and Jesus Christ he could've hurt his friend. He could've killed him.

Huh, his friend. Could he really call Mark a friend anymore, after everything that had happened between them? I mean, their relationship was the definition of fucking complicated because all they ever seemed to do was argue with each other and make out afterwards. Does that really sound like a healthy relationship? I mean really?

Jack rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It didn't matter anyway. Mark had to hate him after everything he'd done.

The green haired boy reached into his waistband and quickly removed the big lump of metal that was the source of his most recent fuck up. He set it on the table in front of him, just admiring the way the polished metal caught the light. Guns had never filled him with fear like they did other people however this was the first gun he'd ever touched. Hell, Jack had never even seen one in the flesh before, but he'd seen in action movies the basic mechanics of the things.