My Opening Farewell

Who cares?! Nobody I know for sure.
He stuck another pin into his already bleeding arm ..... the blood spreading slowly across his skin, a low giggle escaped from his mouth.
The pain was real ... pure. It didn't judge him ... didn't hurt him ... didn't ask him to be anything. It liked him for who he was. He reveled in it... made himself feel alive, animated.
It complemented him ... added itself to who he was ... made him something more than himself ... made him larger than the pathetic life he was leading.
The blood was real, true. The scarlet against the wheat ... the contrast almost made him laugh and another low giggle escaped through his lips.
As daylight gave way to another evening and the stars began to peek around the corners of their nooks and crevices in the black velvet of the night ... he sat with a tiny bottle of the best whiskey he could afford ... a treat, gift for himself ... something he had always wanted to try ...
That tickles ...(snicker)
Another pin ... stuck with a trembling hand into an arm beginning to look like a pincushion.
The now familiar scarlet stain spreading onto his white shirt ...
Fuck! Mom's not going to be happy with that
He fell onto his side, laughing ... a maniacal laugh ... a sad laugh ... a laugh no teenager was supposed to laugh.
He reached into the small box of pins ...
That's convenient (giggle)
The blood spreading across his index finger ... a pin stuck in the tip.
A swig of whiskey ... a drop of blood ... a low chortle ... another pin ...
Teeth bared ... half smile ... half grimace.
Swaying, he got to his feet ... staring out to the horizon where the sun went to sleep ... losing its glory to a moon yet to show itself ...
Tears slid down his face as he surveyed his empire of dirt ...
Its yours ... all yours! Do with it as you will!
A child's drawing ... on the ground ...
A whole lot of squiggles ... three people in a green field ... a house with a red roof behind them
My mommy, My daddy and me in our new house ...
His eyes focussed, staring into the shining sun made with a yellow crayon ... she had tried to use orange and given up.
A maniacal laugh, muffled by the bottle touching his lips ... he fell to the ground, unable to keep himself upright any longer.
Ironical. It would do ... it would do well.
Unsteady hands reached into a coat that fit all too well ... the pen got stuck in the silk lining ... pulled out with unnecessary force that tore it ...
Sorry Mom ...
laughter, loud and hoarse ...
The crowning piece in the small box ... a blade ... thin as a hair, sharp as a knife, light as a feather and as heavy as a mountain.
giggle ...
His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on his wrist ... holding the blade against it.
A flick of the wrist...
He tries to repair his broken thoughts ...
The pen scraped against the paper ... "Goodbye, cruel worl" the 'L' dragged across to the end of the page ...

----------------------------------------------------------------------

World Suicide Prevention day is on 10th September.