A Game of Solitare

    All alone, he waits. On a cold floor scared and sorry, he sits. The pain has become to much for him solitarily to handle. Reaching across the dark floor he finds his knife. His refuge, his savior. This excruciating pain is like a monster, taking over his very being. Like a million knives, slashing into his flesh. Like a wild creature, tearing him apart limb by limb. Hand shaking he lifts the dagger to his forearm, all too ready to end it all. To make everything go away. To stop the raging war going on inside of him. Thrusting, blood spots the walls and his emotionless face. And again, one more. And one final time before he slumps to the hard ground underneath him. All sanity is leaving him forever. He is slowly slipping away, slipping into the dark abyss. Unitl he hears one last final scream of the torture he left behind.