Stitches
Sometimes people change in the most subtle of ways.
It's nothing noticeable. Not until many of those little changes begin to pile up. And soon things you used to do, the person you used to be, is someone you don't see in the mirror anymore. You've lost yourself to ways of the world in which you surround yourself.
So you try to remember what you used to be like. To obtain that same sense of innocence. Of ethereal peace that lingers in your mind. Just beyond the area where the dark lurks ready to pull you back under the frozen waves any moment you should forget to be on guard.
When you finally find these pieces you wonder what exactly changed. You go through everything piece by piece until you know. And once you know you can try to change back to what you once were. However the attempts to be a person trapped with the past, whom should only live on in memories is futile.
Then you think that maybe you can combine the two. Create a new person by mixing the ashes of an old within the burning flames of a new. Only to see that they just burn away because you cannot change who you are. And, ultimately, the evolution of a soul cannot be undone.
Finally you try to stitch everything back together. To keep what little you have left of your current self safe. Because the angry void that wants to swallow your past self rumbles deep inside. Trying to take a grasp in the person you are now and force you to leave that behind as well.
In the wake of the destruction you've wroght. Tearing yourself down you wonder. You shake when you try to gasp for air above the turbulence that is your mind. And ever certain that you can't forget anything about those last times you try to solve the current problem. To fix whatever made you wish for simpler times from the past.
But the stitches you've left across your soul. Across the mind that thinks new thoughts. The heart ready to love in new ways. Will always be visible amongst the lights, and shine of this person you've changed yourself into.
The Marks
Marks don't have to be on open skin.
This is a lesson well learned. Because it is within the human condition to want to heal hurt as soon as it comes. To rid ourselves of whatever pain we might have stumbled upon.
Sometimes that pain is buried deep within our souls. And we feel like we are drowning within our own hopelessness and unable to reach out. Trapped in this never ending cycle that wishes to bring the pain forward, to make it something that you can feel and make better.
Emotional pain is possibly the worst of all pain. It blinds you to the joys of life. Stealing the glamour from the stars and ensuring that the sun looks rather like it could burn you instead of warm your skin. And so you need to make it real, to make the pain something you can manage.
The razor always looks tempting.
The thought of blood running down your arm consumes your every thought. You become addicted to the feeling of being in control. It's like you might not survive if you cannot make the pain you feel into something of your own making. Because the thought of just having to leave yourself at the mercy of your emotions is horrifying.
You want to run and hide from everyone. Bury yourself deep enough in the caverns of your own minds that no one would see you. In a place where the pain is physical and your mind is alright.
Eventually it never becomes enough.
You have to cut deeper. You have to let yourself bleed for just a little longer. And next time you know it will be the same. A never ending cycle that goes from bad to worse until you finally manage to cut too deep. Or you somehow let yourself bleed just a little too long.
But that thought does not bother you anymore.
You begin to cherish that moment in your mind. The moment when you know that you will die by your own hand of this curse. When you'll feel the blood leaving too quickly, but won't try to stop it. And you know you won't try, this is what scares you.
Not the prospect of dying, but your nonchalance to it. But you begin to wonder if this was not always how it had been. You needed that relief and everything came with a price. Not a single thing in this life was free. Perhaps the price of this freedom is no longer having a life to be free in.
The white marks line your arms now.
They zig zag. Crossing each other over and over again. Creating a bitter pathway across a body filled with shame. A road carved by steel and iron against flesh, where the unyielding cold bite of metal meets skin. The newer ones are red and the older ones are white. They don't scare you either.
You observe the monster you've made yourself into. And begin to wonder what became of that child you knew. Someone so innocent now tainted forever by their own possible martyrdom that it cannot be recovered.
A flutter is in your chest. And something clicks. A switch is turned and you want to know why you can't just leave. Why God don't put you out of the misery that keeps you crying every day. Tearing yourself down and beating out any last hope you may have had.
So you poise the razor. Gripping the edges ever so gently as you prepare. You're confident this is going to be the last time. The air glitters with the thought of finally being free. But that's when he comes along.
Eyes like the ocean that you are wanting to drown in. Skin tan like the rope you wished to use to hang yourself. Stare as cold as the metal blade on your wrist. Hair as black as the gun you were tempted to cock next to your temple.
He's everything good it seems when you look. Almost the perfect picture of a person who is whole. And you wonder why this beautiful creature would bother looking at you. That is until you see the arms of this beautiful creature for yourself.
He has his own white lines. His own broken road. A story unique to himself written across his skin just like yours. His face tells you all you need to know. And you are ready to bury your entire being with the comfort offered by a friend.
For this amazing person loved someone. And this someone loved them back. Soon enough all thoughts had faded from their minds. Becoming stagnant as light pushed away the darkness and lingering erri feeling.
You no longer wish to die.
Introduction
Sirens.
They were a sound that he would never come to forget. To most people that might seem odd but to each their own. To him they were something more than another tragedy happening somewhere. It was a beacon to him, saying you failed at the one thing that almost everyone can do.
Everything was blurry. He could not focus and the blood that was everywhere wasn't helping. Not that he imagined it would, seeing ones blood coating the room around them would understandably cause a certain amount of panic.
But he couldn't even find it within himself to worry that he was going to die. It felt like that final string had been cut. And he was ready to let his life fly into the wind and just leave the possibility of justice for his killer to the police department. They would undoubtedly search before another case with a higher priority came along and he was pushed to the side and eventually was labeled cold case and shoved onto a shelf.
How strange, to not mind dying at only seventeen. But this had been a long time in the coming by his counts. It had been only a matter of when that man was going to snap, not if, it had never been if. He had known something was just going to break and lead to bad things the moment he saw him.
Foster homes were overrated anyway. If he even lived through this he wouldn't stay at one for the last four months before he hit eighteen. He'd just leave, be like a whisp in the wind and follow life to where it so deemed to take him.
Thinking this he didn't even flinch in the slightest when he heard the door give. Yelling and people touching him registered slightly, however he was too far gone by that point. Far too at peace with his situation for someone whom was about to become a murder victim. Both accepting that he might or might not die. And willingly admitting to the consequences of both of those options. Preferring neither but more than likely going to get the seemingly worse option, though still undeterred from his original thought.
Yes, Jake Alexander Helix was an odd boy alright. But he had always known this as well.