Writer's note: I want all readers to be aware that this novel discusses themes of depression, suicide, intense gore, etc... So, if you're sensitive to that, why are you here? Otherwise if you're cool with this, go have fun, and thanks for reading!
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You don't realize how you take your freedom for granted until you're met with impossibility.
Somewhere off the east coast in Japan, in a dark room, lit only by the grace of the waxing moon, lies a form in shrouding sheets of white. A serene yet eerie stillness hangs in the air, save for the gentle rhythm of breathing. Despite closed eyes, the boy lies awake. He has spent many nights and days in this sanctuary, futilely trying for sleep, for some form of respite from a soundless, repetitive rumination.
The room is quite bare, holding only the necessities. Those being a bed, closet, and a desk. Oh, and of course the lump of laundry that gradually grows each day. A single, noiseless beeping light shines from his computer, but it won't be noticed. The sound of his own restless breathing and cacophonic heartbeat takes up the entirety of his perceptive world. Other than this, there was endless boredom, of course. Yet, the sound of pulsing blood in the ears serves as the perfect catalyst for maladaptive cogitation, which sends the creature stirring up from his cocoon. With blank eyes illumined from dispersed moon light, he rummages through the covers for a phone. Is it beneath the pillow? No. In the sheets? Wrong again. A reluctant sigh escapes his throat as he pushes himself up further to scan his surroundings. A moment later he quickly makes note of his phone lying beside his bed on the floor. He reaches for the object, and with a click, the screen comes to life.
The sudden exposure to the light aggravates the already annoying headache he has sustained throughout the night. Who knew that sitting in your room all day can be bad for you? With a swipe of his thumb, he sends the illuminated screen scrolling up and up, to invisible lengths. The images from the screen reflect easily onto his dull eyes, which are emphasized by the apparent deep hollowness of the room; a void that only serves to suck in light and spirit.
A quick frown formed on the youth's face, in response to an internal conflict stirred by the passing images. Yet before there is a chance to reflect, in a fit of fury he slams his phone down, burying his head between his knees where he sat. A hopelessness had gradually eased its way into his soul, consuming whatever will power he had left. This despair had been with him for far longer, though. Longer than he cared to remember. It was a cold, yet comforting presence. A persistent friend who never knew when to quit. A constant that anchored him to reality.
The boy rubbed his eyes as he arose from the futon upon which he had been resting. A sudden creeping flutter began from within his chest. What was this feeling again? He had long forgotten what it was. Was it soreness, from his endless slothful habits? Perhaps a heart attack? No, not yet. Hunger pang? Maybe… It had been a while since he last fed himself. Looking around, he saw a history of food scraps scattered across the room. A mountain of waste piled in the corner, leaving the buried trash-can obsolete. Eating to survive had lost its meaning: his computer, phone, and bed were the only things he needed.
He chuckled to himself in response to some hidden thought, lowering his chin so that his dark hair obscured his vision from the moonlight that lit up the room. The night air had invited itself in through a raised windowpane. On unbearable nights like these he tended to enjoy fresh air. And, on nights like these, he could. Walking towards the window, he brought the glass pane up as far as it would go, and out of old habit he popped out the screen netting on the other side of it, hoisting it inside swiftly despite a nagging lethargy.
With exposed feet, he lifted himself up onto the windowsill. From here it was just a simple routine: crouch on the edge of the ledge, shuffle to the left, grab the wall and lean toward the gutter, reach up and grab the corner of the roof, and lift himself up with the momentum. On his way up he realized the execution felt foreign from lack of practice. Was it two years ago? Maybe more? It didn't matter anyways, it's not like he could remember. It wasn't an ability that came easy to him. His hands were scraped up now, but that wasn't a problem for him.
With careful steps he made his way up to the top of the roof. He made sure to slowly sit down, as to not disturb anyone sleeping inside. He didn't want to wake them up like he had many times before. He smiled faintly to himself, but it quickly faded as he looked distantly over the street.
This place was always his favorite. Well, one of his favorite spots. He and his brother had built a shoddy fort a long time ago, which always seemed to give him a bittersweet feeling looking out at it. It was old, with a rusted metal sheet for a roof. The wooden walls had signs of decay and green growing up the sides, yet somehow the inside was still relatively pristine, at least the last time he checked. He didn't bother using it now though, there was no point as he and his brother had grown distant over the years.
Taking in a deep breath, he shifted his body into a more comfortable position and admired the night sky. There was a chill in the air that brought him to reality anytime he seemed to drift off. That was one of the reasons he liked it up here. It felt distant yet so safe.
He looked down as his fist, noticing it was clenched tightly. Had he been subconsciously doing that this whole time? Staring into his palm he frowned. The nagging was back again. Relentless and ever growing. He shook his hand, as though the bad thoughts were a dew collecting on his skin that he could just wave away.
There was a deep exhaustion in him. He was tired, tired of the fatigue, tired of the sleeplessness, of the endless boredom, of… Well, it didn't really matter now, did it?
He raised himself up and gradually moved over to the very top of the roof, which was attached to the attic. He always thought the formation at the top was strange, as if it had been built as a secondary thought. He wished there were more rooms on the third story, then he would have a whole floor to himself. Instead, the attic collects dusts and old memorabilia. He didn't have the energy to try and clean it up either. Climbing onto it, he clenched his teeth. Was it from the cold? He wished he had brought a hoodie, but it didn't matter now.
The flutter came back to his chest. This time it felt more like a jolt. Why do heights naturally scare humans? There's beauty up in the air, closer to the clouds, away from the tainted land. He took a deep breath to compensate for the uncomfortable feeling. At this point he was standing on shaky legs, wobbling slightly where he stood. His fingers also betrayed him with a numb feeling at the tips. He clenched his hands tightly.
Patting at his sides, he maneuvered his stiff hands into a jean pocket and pulled out a folded paper. With deft movement, he unfolded the note and glanced, then quickly stuffed it back in with a satisfied nod. Slowly, the boy tottered his way to the edge of the roof. From up here, the ground seemed very small, almost unreal.
His eyes had become clouded, and he could taste the sting of anger boiling in his throat as he edged his way closer. A flash of some feeling came across his face, but it was unreadable. The boy raised his fists to his sides and frowned. His silhouette cast a striking form on the ground below.
The throbbing of blood became almost deafening in his head. His fingers shook as if they were controlled by another, fighting for superiority over them. His eyes were tightly closed, where invisible tears would fall.
With an uncertain stride, he motioned his body back towards the way he came. Emotions advanced like lighting on his face. Another step away, another…
In a sudden moment, gray eyes flashed open. A flutter so quick and seamless it was akin to the movements of a frightened butterfly. A neutral expression cast over his face as a thick shadow. There were no tears, no anger. Instead, it resembled something akin to resolve, relief. It would all be okay. He shifted the balls of his feet back to the edge and in a movement, he covered the distance he had just made in the opposing direction. With a swift and sure turn he faced away from the ledge, lifted his arms straight out, and, in the blink of an eye, plummeted below.
BOMF. CRACK!