It was 3:00 in the fucking morning. He was so tired. Not like "God I need to sleep,". Tired of life. He was sitting in the pharmacutical aisle at walmart. It was 3:00 in the morning, and he felt like the only person in the world. It had started to snow by the time he decided to venture out. The world was soft and white, in a lonely kind of way. When he stepped out of his car, one of the only three in the parking lot, he didn't even noticed the cold. He never noticed the cold anymore. He was cold all the time. No matter how many layers he put on he was always cold. As if the fire inside him had gone out. He'd grown use to the cold.
He grown use the daily task of forcing himself to open his eyes and fake his way through the day. Today was the first day he couldn't pretend anymore. It hurt to much. It was killing him on the inside. He felt like he was being sucked into a black hole, and everything was caving into itself. It hurt, but not in a way he knew how to fix. He traced his finger over the barely visable light pink scars that spanned the surface of his skin, just above his sock. He tried to hurt in way he could manage. It didn't go very far. His mom freaked when she found out and threatened to take him to the hopital and lock him up since he couldn't keep himself safe. He gave her the knife...and didn't tell her about the thumb tack he used as a subsitute. But eventually that stopped working to. He stopped feeling. He didn't hurt anymore.
He was just numb and life wasn't worth living it was going to be this momnotonus shit for the next 80 years. Fuck that. He wanted out. He scanned his gaze over all the different brands of medicane. All the options he had, when he didn't really have any anyways. He scooted across the floor, not bothering to waste the energy it would take to get up. He stretched his fingertips, reaching for a bottle to tylonal P.M. He thought about using aspirin, but he was so use to hurting that it didn't hurt anymore. He could cover it up well enough and pretend she never meant anything. Pretend that she didn't break his heart.
In a sick sadistic way, he wanted to off himself just to see what he would say. Would she cry and realize that she really had loved him? Would she regret hurting him so bad? For not loving him as much as he loved her? He wanted to do it to see what she would say. The thoughts went around and around in his head, like a CD stuck on repeat. He thought about all the various ways of ending it. He thought about hanging himself, but he failed miserably as knot tying in boy scouts. He thought about a gun, but didn't think he'd have the guts. There was always the knife, but his mom would die if she found him in blood. No, he just wanted to go peacefully, curl up under the bush outside her window where he'd hid so many times before, waiting for her parents to leave the house, before climbing the trellis to her room. He wanted to dream with her once more.
He reached his finger up, and ended up knocking the bottle over. It hit him on the head. He swore. Hell, maybe he'd just down the whole bottle right here. He wondered if anyone in the security camera had seen him sitting here for over an hour. He wondered if they cared. He looked up at the ceiling trying to stop a camera and then reached for the fallen bottle from where he sat. A hand landed on top of his.
He looked up to see a homely looking Asian Chick. Her nose seemed to large for her face, and she had bad skin. She smiled. "I've got it." She placed the bottle back on the shelf and gazed at him. "Are you alright?" She asked.
"Fucking Brilliant." He muttered. "I'd like the bottle back if you don't mind." She took the bottle off the shelf again, but kept it in her hands, reading the label. "Can't sleep?" She asked. He hadn't slept in days. All he wanted was for the day to be over and night to come so he could sleep, but the very thing he wanted was the very thing he could never get. A reacurring theme in his life.
The girl sat down next to him, adjusting her blue Walmart vest. The back read, "Can I help you?" He almost laughed out loud. No one could help him now. "I'm Yeshua." She said, giving him a smile. She stuck out her hand to shake, her sleeve riding up. Her caught side of a massive scar on her wrist. He kept his face netural.
"You're not trying to just get to sleep are you." She said. It wasn't a question. His eyes flew up to meet hers. "I know how you feel." She told him. "I know what it's like to feel like you're the only one in the whole world. I know what it's like to want to be normal. To wish you had a different destinity instead of the one you do. I know."
"Have you tried it?" He asked.
"Killing myself?" She asked.
He nodded.
"You could call it that." She said.
"What made you do it?" He asked.
"Nothing made me do." She told him. "It was my choice."
"Yeah, okay, but what sent you to it."
"My father sent me to it." she said, tracing a finger over her own scar.
"Wow, what a prick." He muttered.
She shook her head, "No, it's just. Sometimes it was hard for me to understand what he wanted. Why he was doing certain things and not doing others. I never understood how he could allow me to go through so much pain..." She trailed off, a far away look in her eyes, suddenly she looked back at him again. "You feel like she broke your heart, don't you?"
He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He was so damn sick of crying about her. He knew she wasn't wasting any thoughts on him. She had her new boyfriend, as far as she was concerned, he could go fuck himself. "You were in love with her?" Yeshua asked.
"I sure as hell thought I was!" He spat, angry at himself for breaking. She gave him a moment to collect himself and then said, "You know, there's something my girlfriend use to say--"
He inturrpeted her, "You're a lesbian?"
She looked him in the eye, not offended. "Is that a problem?"
"No," He said, "Just surprising."
She shrugged, and continued, "She always use to say, "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."
"She didn't love me." He said, looking at the floor.
"Just because she stopped wanting to be with you romantically, doesn't mean she stopped loving you."
"Well, she might as well have!" He kicked the shelf in front of him. "I'm just so sick of the same God damn shit. I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE! It's like...it's like---"
"It's like," She said, "Like you never realized that air could feel so heavy. It's like you're a fish out of water and your drowning on the very thing that's suppose to keep you alive."
He glanced at her watching as she picked a piece of lint off her jeans. "What's your girlfriends name?" He asked.
"I called her M&M, but Mary. Her name is Mary." She was playing with a fabric band around her wrist. It read, "G.O.L.F"
"Golf?" He asked.
" God offers love and forgivness." She smiled at him. He arched an eyebrow.
"I don't believe that there's a God who would let you or me go through so much shit that we have to end it ourselves."
"You're right. God doesn't make us go through anything we're not strong enough to handle, even if sometimes it feels like we can't hang on anymore. Humans have more endurance then you know."
"Well, mine is all spent." He said, reaching out his hand for the bottle she still held in her hand. She didn’t give it to him right away. Instead she said, “You know "You know, I had a friend once, who felt that he betrayed me so terriably, that he hurt me so badly, that he couldn't live with himself anymore. Even though he did what he eventually had to do, the guilt he piled on himself was so much that he couldn't take it. He hung himself. Do you know what a terriable feeling it is to feel like your the reason someone wanted to die? Don't do that to anyone. Don't let the hurt continue."
She stood up and handed him the bottle, "It's your choice."
*Who is Jeshua?

more youre a fantastic writer