Save My Soul
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
3,407
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
3,407
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 1
I'm still working on this story. I'm sorry it's so short. I wanted to see what people think of it before I continue. I posted it on fiction press, but no one reviewed.
I love reviews and constructive criticism. No flame please
Note: This characters are mine. You can't have them.
_____________
Let's see, what can I say about myself. My name is Yuki. I'm twenty years old. And I'm sitting at home on a Friday night. Oh, sure I can be out with my friends. I've had a bunch of invitations to hang out with my them. I just don't want to. I know they are just asking me out to be nice. All my friends have lives and relationships.
We used to hang out almost every day during high school. We were a close knit group. All that changed once high school was over. Everyone moved on. They all wound up at college and they are all in relationships.
I used to hang out with my friends during weekends. We'd all go out to a club or something. I'd always wind up alone. My friends would wind up dancing with their significant others. They didn’t even notice when I left without them.
They didn’t even notice a few weeks ago when I dyed my hair from it’s natural light blond color to black. They didn’t notice that I wasn’t as happy and talkative as I used to be. Never noticed that I went from wearing bright happy colors and started wearing all black.
They didn’t even notice the deep red cuts on my arms. I didn’t try to hide the fact that I cut myself. I’d wear a plain old tee shirt. I guess they were too busy sucking face to notice little old me.
I thought they cared. They always used to. They used to be able to tell when I was depressed or upset about something. All they care about is themselves and their boyfriends or girlfriends.
Now I sit here on the cold tile on the bathroom floor. I’m hurting inside and no one notices; no one cares.
Maybe they’ll care when I’m gone.
I pick up the razor from the bathroom floor. I hold it up to my wrist and slice deep across my veins. Crimson starts to flow down my pale skin and on to the white tile floor. Then I do the other wrist.
I sit there and watch the blood flow. After a few minutes I start to feel light headed.
How long will it take them to find my body? A day or two? Maybe a week or even a month. Will they even take the time to show up at my funeral? I doubt it. They don’t care anymore.
I’m to weak to keep my eye’s open. I feel my body slide on the floor. The cool tile caresses my cheek.
It won’t be long now.
Maybe in my next life I will have friends that care.
I faintly hear someone calling my name. I can’t lift my head though. It’s too late.
I no longer feel the coldness of the tile. I can feel myself floating.
Maybe I’m weak for killing myself. But it was the only way they’d understand.
I love reviews and constructive criticism. No flame please
Note: This characters are mine. You can't have them.
_____________
Let's see, what can I say about myself. My name is Yuki. I'm twenty years old. And I'm sitting at home on a Friday night. Oh, sure I can be out with my friends. I've had a bunch of invitations to hang out with my them. I just don't want to. I know they are just asking me out to be nice. All my friends have lives and relationships.
We used to hang out almost every day during high school. We were a close knit group. All that changed once high school was over. Everyone moved on. They all wound up at college and they are all in relationships.
I used to hang out with my friends during weekends. We'd all go out to a club or something. I'd always wind up alone. My friends would wind up dancing with their significant others. They didn’t even notice when I left without them.
They didn’t even notice a few weeks ago when I dyed my hair from it’s natural light blond color to black. They didn’t notice that I wasn’t as happy and talkative as I used to be. Never noticed that I went from wearing bright happy colors and started wearing all black.
They didn’t even notice the deep red cuts on my arms. I didn’t try to hide the fact that I cut myself. I’d wear a plain old tee shirt. I guess they were too busy sucking face to notice little old me.
I thought they cared. They always used to. They used to be able to tell when I was depressed or upset about something. All they care about is themselves and their boyfriends or girlfriends.
Now I sit here on the cold tile on the bathroom floor. I’m hurting inside and no one notices; no one cares.
Maybe they’ll care when I’m gone.
I pick up the razor from the bathroom floor. I hold it up to my wrist and slice deep across my veins. Crimson starts to flow down my pale skin and on to the white tile floor. Then I do the other wrist.
I sit there and watch the blood flow. After a few minutes I start to feel light headed.
How long will it take them to find my body? A day or two? Maybe a week or even a month. Will they even take the time to show up at my funeral? I doubt it. They don’t care anymore.
I’m to weak to keep my eye’s open. I feel my body slide on the floor. The cool tile caresses my cheek.
It won’t be long now.
Maybe in my next life I will have friends that care.
I faintly hear someone calling my name. I can’t lift my head though. It’s too late.
I no longer feel the coldness of the tile. I can feel myself floating.
Maybe I’m weak for killing myself. But it was the only way they’d understand.