You live with your younger brother but he is out sleeping over in his friend's house for tonight. You are alone 4:12 in the morning. The dogs in the neighborhood start howling and you hear the stray cats moving on your roof. The sound of the lizards are deafening. Everything seems so clear to you. That, you are alone in your miserable bungalow.You open your list of friends. Nobody is online and two are missing in the list. They deleted you and you know why. As the loneliness sink deeper, you find yourself with no one to talk to. The fear that you might experience something supernatural was defeated by the fear that yet again, you are alone.
You start to remember the first time you underwent abandonment. You were seven years old at that time when your parents separated but you know they were long gone in spirit. You never felt the warmth that the "idea of parents" promised. You never knew how it feels like to be family. You never tried riding on the back of your father. Nor have you tried being dressed up by your mother. Your school was offering you competitions and workshops but not once did your parents supported you. You were alone. You started picking fights at school but never did one of your parents appear before your teachers. You started earning medals but never did one of your parents appear before the audience. Whichever you did had no effect. You were just there breathing but not living in their world. You sat at the darkest corner of your old house watching your conceited mother and father as they throw things as each other. You hear hurtful words back and forth, but never was it for you because you were too less of a worth that even one curse is not worth taking the energy to mention it. You were alone in the middle of a lover feud and the separation was just expected.
The unfortunate kid you were, you tried to seek importance from others. But who would care giving you what you wanted when your own obligated parents couldn't give it to you. You looked for friends but your friends were only skin-deep. You got in trouble, you were caught in fights all because of them but, everyone ran away when punishment comes. You were left alone to carry the burden but that was not you. You know you had something more in you. That was not your life. You stand up a midst the mountains of rubble and your friends hated you for trying to change. You graduated from your primary school, leaving everything behind.
You met great people in the next chapters of your life but on the third volume, you and the others had to leave for a separate journey. They were busy and you, you became the person you were good at. You became the lost child that you were. You jumped to the pages of your book. It tore the leaves from the spine. Some lines where even incomprehensible from the tears you carelessly shed. You pushed yourself in places you couldn't turn back from. You trapped yourself. And the people following you, you wasted their time. They had high hopes for you, but you disappointed them. They left one by one into their busy lives because they realized you were not the show they came for. You, my friend, were alone again.
The memories are not helping. You hurl disgusting stuff from your insides. Nauseous. You are young, you still have a lot of years in front of you but that does not encourage you. You don't know which way to go. You imagine all the moments you were alone. You imagine all the people who left you. Imagine everything bad. Leave out all the goods things that happened. Bury yourself in the hole that your pessimism dug down. You know you are intelligent. You know you have a lot of fight in you. You know that maybe a lot still have high hopes for you and just waiting for you to claim yourself. That maybe you were the one who build walls around you from the fear and horror of your past.
There were a lot of good things you do not include in your memories. You liked engulfing yourself in the shadows. What good does it bring you? You look at your wall. Browse it down. You see all the pitiful statuses you typed down hoping for others to comfort you. You have a very sad life. You pushed aside the idea that maybe somewhere in the globe, there are 80% people having it worse. You ignore that fact because you want to claim to be the saddest. You lose hope. You simply lost hope. You push the LCD screen. You stand from your chair and fall down on your knees. You curl in the floor. You bash the ground with your tiny knuckles from the weeks of eating nothing more than three spoonfuls. You can't handle this, you whisper.
With your black and blue hands, a hand not fit for sketching anymore, you crawled your way to the kitchen. You left a map of tears on the way. You touch the cross on your necklace. Hold it tight then pull it away. You know this is wrong but you choose to let your emotions get the better of you. You reach for the first knife you can grab. You stare at it as the fluorescent light reflect on its silver. Imagine how nasty it will feel if you stab yourself with its blade. Imagine your flesh being torn and sliced. That pain would be the newest of all pain in your list. The uniqueness of the agony as your blood is spilled on the tiles of your kitchen. Happiness rushes in. The irony of feeling so alive as you lose your last breath. This is by far your...sickest imagination.
