Broken

You sit in a dark room. The curtains are shut tightly, blocking any light source that may disturb you. You’re sitting in a corner, your knees up against your stomach, your arms hugging your legs weakly. In the dark, you remove your arms from them, and trail your fingers across your left forearm. You feel the cuts, the horizontal scars that cover your arm, and the other one too. You grimace at each memory, each time you placed these cuts upon your skin. A few of the cuts are still fresh, made only moments ago, and your skin burns as your fingers gently stroke them. But you don’t feel the pain. You don’t feel anything anymore.

You lift your arm to brush your legs, your fingertips lightly touching the damaged skin. They are covered in bruises, ranging from light blue to a dark purple, and even the lightest touch hurts. But you refuse to feel, you only remember. You remember your father beating you, again and again, after a bad day at work. You remember your mother, standing by silently and doing nothing to stop him. You remember the pain, the anger, the fear you feel for the man you called your father, though he had never acted like one. You remember everything.

You stand up - the memories filling your head are too much to take. Your weak legs have not moved in hours, and you can barely support your own weight. You stumble to the bathroom, your legs aching as you move, and flick on the light switch. The sudden brightness burns your eyes, and you steady yourself on the sink. After moments, you open your closed eyes to look in the mirror. You’re shocked by what you see. Your tousled black hair is messy, and has no apparent style. Your bloodshot eyes are exaggerated by your severe pallor, which are so, so pale. Your stomach is flatter than the last time you saw yourself, probably because you haven’t eaten for hours or days. You’re not sure how long it’s been. The ashen flesh that covers your body only emphasizes the blood on your arms, that you put there yourself, and the blue on your legs, put there by your father. Tears burn in your exhausted eyes, and you blink them away quickly.

You start to remember. You think back on what a carefree kid you were, always happy and cheerful. You remember having so many friends and playdates each day, and you realise how much your life has changed. It saddens you. You used to be so happy, and now you’re broken. You’re depressed, you’re empty. You’re nothing.

From the drawer behind you, you pull out a gun. You’d stolen it from your father after he buried it in the yard, warning you that if you ever touched his alcohol again he’d shoot you. You’d stolen the gun quickly, for at that moment, you had no wish to die. How times have changed.

You see your classmates, tormenting you, calling you names and making fun of your bruises. If only they could see your scars. You see them laughing at you, teasing you, bullying you. All the memories, the flashbacks, the pain; it’s too much for you, you stare at the gun in your hand. It’s small, but heavy. You know many would fear it, but you embrace it like a friend. A fatal friend.

Staring into the mirror, you hold the gun against your head, the cool metal burning into your temple. You want to cry, but you can’t. There’s no reason too. No one can hear, and even if they could, they wouldn’t care. You let out a troubled sigh, and look at yourself once more.

It’s a strange feeling, something you haven’t felt in a long time. You feel brave, like you're finally doing the right thing. You feel like this is how its supposed to end, like whatever is waiting for you is better than this hell. You’re not sure if it’s the right word, but you think you're happy. You haven't felt that in a long time, and it feels good. Nice. You have no last words, only last feelings. You feel courageous about what you're about to do, you feel calm that you're leaving this world you once thought to be a fairytale but now seems like a prison. You feel happy. Even if only for a few precious seconds, you feel happy.

But you don’t let it last too long.

You pull the trigger, and everything explodes.