"Sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all."
Tyler curled up into the fetal position, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. Oxygen filled his lungs, carbon dioxide left. But still, he was not breathing. Tyler could feel it. He was not breathing.
His spine curled as he hugged his knees to his chest. He never expected to live past sixteen, but yet here he was, seventeen years old and still feeling the same way he always did. Nothing changed. It didn't get better. Everyone, every single person, had lied to him.
Tyler kept repeating to himself, sometimes in his head, sometimes aloud, that he would be okay.
He had lied, too.
"I wish I was never born," he said again, his words dying with the wind.
He was in his backyard. Decrepit, rusted bicycles leaned against the side of the garage. A trampoline loomed silently a few feet away. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. There were no cars in the driveway, no brothers or sisters or mothers or fathers in the house, no annoying neighbors mowing their front lawn.
Tyler was alone.
Slowly, almost uncertainly, Tyler reached out and felt the cool grass under his palm. The dewdrops wet his fingertips. Clouds crept along over his head.
The sky was dark that day. The rain came slowly at first, then it gradually became a thick sheet of water pouring down from above.
Tyler remained lying in the grass, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to his skin. His hair was drenched, a few sad pieces hanging limply in front of his eyes.
The water made his cuts burn.
But his eyes burned even more. Hot, salty tears ran down his cheeks, the teardrops joining the raindrops in making Tyler miserable. He cried. He cried for so long he couldn't tell if there was rain staining his clothes or tears.
He laid there for a solid two seconds. Twenty minutes. Two hours. Tyler couldn't tell. Time was the last thing on his mind at this point.
His mind.
His damn mind.
It was His fault, not Tyler's.
He told him to do this. He told him to kill that boy. He told him he had to do it, he told him all those terrible, terrible lies.
It was all His fault.
"Yes, it was all My fault."
At that moment, something snapped inside of Tyler. He cried out and gripped the sides of his head in agony as He began to take over. A pitch black shadow traveled up his skin, swirling around his arms, and finally stopping at his wrists. His tan skin turned as black as the shadow consuming him.
Tyler was no longer Tyler.
The tears stopped. The pain subsided. The rain poured down over him as he sat there, eyes closed, slightly swaying back and forth.
When Tyler opened his eyes again, they were red.
He reached for the small, shining piece of metal lying in the grass next to him. His fingers wrapped around the blood-stained knife. His lips turned up into a tiny ghost of a smile.
It was only a matter of time before they came looking for him.
And he would be ready.
Shakily, Tyler pushed himself off the ground into a standing position. He would have fallen if it wasn't for his new found strength.
It was all thanks to Blurry.
Tyler gripped the knife tightly in his right hand, his eyes glaring sharply through the rain.
He heard sirens.
It was just a fight, a simple teenage scrap; there was no need to kill the boy. Tyler had taken it too far. He had taken it too personally.
Of course, Blurry was really the one behind it. He was the one that was really behind Tyler's eyes.
The sirens grew closer and closer and closer.
Tyler silently watched as the flashing blue and red lights drove down his street and came to a sudden stop right in front of his house.
His left eye twitched. His red irises sparked behind his pupils. The shadow on his hands and neck grew darker with every passing moment.
Tyler was petrified. On the inside, he was still the seventeen year old kid that was just messing around. Picking fights. Going too far.
But on the outside, he was Blurryface. A cold-blooded murderer with no remorse whatsoever for what he'd done.
The doors of the police cars collectively slammed shut. Tyler was faced with a dozen guns aimed directly at his head.
Tyler managed to take down half of them before he was taken down himself.
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Orange was Tyler's new color.
Even though he was just seventeen, his birthday fell early. He was closer to the age of eighteen than he was seventeen.
That meant he met the jurisdiction. He wasn't in juvenile detention.
He was in prison.
As soon as he was thrown in his cell, right at the end of the hall, the last bit of sanity Tyler had left was destroyed.
He screamed. He screamed at the top of his lungs, for hours and hours and hours, until he could scream no more. The only thing that stopped him was when he physically lost his voice.
Tyler gripped the sides of his head so hard he pulled out tufts of hair. The stained beige walls seemed to be closing in on him.
Tyler rushed over to the metal bars, gripping them tightly and shaking them violently back and forth. The only thing that moved was himself. The bars, of course, did not budge.
"Get me the fuck out of here!" Tyler's hoarse voice shouted. His throat burned. He tried to say something else, but it ended up coming out as a choking sob.
Blurry did not leave him. He wouldn't even shut up.
Seven charges.
Seven charges.
Seven charges.
The voices within the confines of Tyler's mind would not cease, no matter how much he shook his head to try to get them out.
Tyler banged his forehead against the bars, sobbing as he did. The tears poured down his cheeks and neck, drenching his face and the white tee shirt under his jumpsuit.
Seven charges.
Seven charges.
Seven charges.
Tyler hastily pushed up the long sleeves of his orange jumpsuit. He used his dirty, sharp fingernails to scratch his arms until they bled.
Tyler watched the blood bubbling out of the cuts for a moment, mesmerized of how the dark red liquid slowly ran down his arms.
Then, Tyler took his right index finger and dipped it in the blood on his arms. He slowly climbed onto his cot and got on his knees.
Eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, Tyler pressed his bloody finger agasint the cold cement wall.
7 charges, he wrote in his own blood. 7 charges.
When there was no room left on the wall above his cot, he moved on to the next wall.
And when there was no blood left on his left arm, he moved on to his right.
Tyler felt as though he couldn't stop. The voices in his head screamed louder and louder with every stroke he drew.
Soon the entire wall was covered in '7 charges'. The excess blood from the words dripped down the cement.
Eventually, Tyler gave up writing 'charges'. He didn't have enough blood.
He filled the last wall with nothing but 7's, over and over again.
When there was no more space left on the three cement walls of his cell, Tyler stood back and looked at what he'd done.
The oversized sleeves of his jumpsuit slumped down to his wrists, covering the blood on his arms.
But there was no covering the blood on the walls.
Tyler stood in the middle of the small room. His head slowly moved around, an emotionless expression on his face. The red drained from his eyes until they finally returned to the original chocolate hue.
And once Tyler saw what he had done, he smiled.
Seventeen years old.
Seven people dead.
Seven charges.
All of them 1st degree murder.
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Tyler had been counting.
Since there was no more space on the walls, he drew tally marks on the floor next to his bed.
A month and thirteen days. He'd been in there a month and thirteen days.
Tyler frowned to himself.
A month and a half down, the rest of his life to go.
Tyler sat down on his cot, the springs squeaking under his weight. He often wondered how the old thing could hold him.
He laid back on the scratchy sheets and put his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and wrinkled his nose. The blood on the walls began to smell.
After a while of simply looking at the ceiling and smelling his own blood, something suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts.
A loud, thunderous BOOM at end of the hallway made Tyler sit bolt upright. His eyes widened as he sat there silently, cocking his head to the side so he could hear better.
Smoke filled the corridor. It raised to the ceilings and floated in between the cell bars, making Tyler choke.
He stood up and rushed over to the bars, pressing his face against them to see as much as he could.
Four figures emerged from the smoke, their shadows growing closer and closer to Tyler.
He wrapped his hands around the cool metal bars and waited.
When the figures finally reached Tyler's cell, the smoke cleared just enough so he could see them.
All four were men, with wild hair and strange, colorful clothing. They all carried guns in their hands, and knives at their waists. They were much older than Tyler, but he wasn't afraid.
Not yet.
One of the men stepped closer to Tyler. His bright red hair hung in front of his eyes. His blue jacket was scuffed and covered in dirt.
Tyler raised his eyebrows.
"Joseph," the man spat, getting close to the bars. "Tyler. Am I right or am I wrong?"
"You tell me," Tyler replied, his stoic expression unchanging. If this man was trying to scare him, he was doing a terrible job.
"You killed seven people?" The man continued, his eyes glancing around Tyler's cell.
"That's what they say." Tyler lifted his shoulder in a shrug.
"Six police officers, huh?" He asked.
Tyler didn't respond. He just kept staring at the man. He had obviously heard Tyler's court case.
"That first person you killed, the boy," the man put one hand on the bar and leaned even closer to Tyler. "He was in my gang, the Clique. And you killed him. You don't do that, kid. Understand?"
When Tyler didn't reply, the man took his gun and banged it on the metal bars, right next to Tyler's head.
Tyler didn't flinch.
"You're psycho, kid," the man scoffed and shook his head. "But don't think you're getting off that easy. You killed a member of my Clique."
"Yeah, I know what I did," Tyler smirked, baring his crooked teeth. "I don't see what the big deal is."
The man quickly raised his gun and shot the lock of the cell door clean off. Tyler watched as the door to his cell slowly swung open.
Freedom.
"The big deal is you crossed the Clique," the man snapped, roughly grabbing Tyler's arm and pulling him towards him. "And you gotta make up for it somehow."
Tyler scoffed and yanked out of the man's grip. "You think I want to join that little party of yours?" He asked, taking a few steps backwards. "You're out of your mind."
"So are you," the man shot back.
"I never said I wasn't," Tyler shrugged, still walking backwards.
"You don't have a choice, kid," the man said, following Tyler into his cell. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."
Tyler smiled. "Come get me!" He said cheerfully, like a child. "You want me to join the Clique so bad, c'mon! Get me!"
The man shook his head and reached out to grab Tyler, but Tyler was quick. He ran around the man and back over to the bars at the front of the cell.
Tyler threw his head back and laughed.
"You sure are slow," he said in his high-pitched, childlike voice. He smiled brightly. "C'mon! You still can't catch me?"
The man glared at Tyler and rushed towards him. As soon as he was just about to grab him, Tyler simply stepped out of the way. The man ran face first into the cell bars and fell backwards onto the ground.
Tyler's smile disappeared, and his eyes darkened. He pounced on the man, straddling him and pinning him to the ground. He didn't have a weapon.
But he had his hands.
"Touch me one more fucking time," Tyler growled, wrapping both of his bloody hands around the man's neck. "I dare you."
The man sputtered to breathe under Tyler's grip. He desperately tried to raise his gun, but he couldn't manage to pull the trigger.
Tyler smirked as he tightened his hands around his neck.
"I'd rather rot in prison than go with you," Tyler spat, his grip getting tighter still.
But in the midst of his manic rage, Tyler forgot about one thing. Three things, actually.
The three other men the came in with the man quickly rushed into the room. Two of them shoved Tyler off of the man and against the wall while the other helped him stand.
"Y-Y-You-" the man sputtered, rubbing his neck and catching his breath. "You r-really are i-in-s-sane."
Tyler's chest rose and fell heavily as he glared up at the man. He could have killed him if it wasn't for his damn backup.
The man glanced at the others, then back down to Tyler.
"Get that fucking kid before he kills anyone else."
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Well, I did it. I wrote a bonus chapter for Tyler's backstory.
I hope you enjoyed! I know I did. Dark!Badass!Totally Hot!Tyler has me weak.
Act Two will be up in a few hours my lovelies.
Enjoy being insane.
- Liz.
P.S. :
LET US BE SEVENTEEEEEEENN
Heathers anyone? No? Ok bye