DENVER.

Bloody Knuckles.

        Monday morning is the one thing we can all relate to dreading. Going to work, or just generally wishing you never woke up again instead of going to school. If there was a god in existence you'd think he'd know our pain.
          But there was a pain some don't know. A pain even God doesn't know. His eyes opened, slightly but enough to see the the blinds opened to a grey sky, usual for Seattle. No matter. He still despised it, regardless of how much it calmed him. He thought to himself, pondering why the greatest of pleasures could bring the most emotional distress. Scar you psychologically.
            "I'll pass on waking up today". It was James' daily routine of muttering that to the voices in his head. What can you expect but for him to go against his own word? He got up and inspected himself in the full length mirror, noticing the scars on his sides and stomach. Also the precise cuts on his knuckles. Looking over each one with a expression of disgust, he turned to his window, staring at the imaginary face looking through the blinds. I'm his head it was long and slender. Pitch black except for the solid white eyes. But in reality there was nothing but a extended tree branch from the left side. "Another story for another day bitch." Looking back at his various scars, he smiled slowly. And laughed, harder than anything else ever had. Tears rolling down his cheeks as he threw his head back in laughter.
                "Enough up there! I told you to stop watching memes before school, it fucks with my morning routine!" James stifled his laugh with his hand after his mother's yelling carried up the stairs. After composing his laughter, he tilted his head to the side and looked across his dark room to his bed. Laying next to his pillow was a tactical knife he bought on a trip to Texas, stained with blood. The same that matched with the bloodstains on the sheets. "Seven more days."