Status: Ongoing
Seeking Solace
I'll Be Your Martyr
After a about an hour of sitting there wanting a stray bullet to come and kill me to somehow fix how I'd screwed up, I finally remember that I'm a dead man anyway.
Once they find Luke, I face suspension and then two years of hell in the prison I used to call home, way back when.
I feel like I'm still in a dream. I want to follow Gerard to make sure he gets home okay, but then part of me can't find the energy to get up any more. I feel like I'm just waiting to wake up, trapped in sleep-lock, waiting for my brain to notice that I'm done sleeping and let me take control again. I can't find it in me to care. I can't find it in me to think even a few minutes ahead, to decide what I'll do, what I'll say to explain what I did. I can't find those thoughts, that ones that could help me. All I can think about, all I can remember, is how I've failed. How I've given up, and decided that there's no way I can fix anything. Which kind of death is painless. What to write in the note I'll leave when I eventually try again.
Maybe I do need help. Just a little.
I can't pretend that I don't think it's a bad idea. I can't lie and say there's that part of me that's telling me 'no'.
Because all of me wants it now. All of me is nodding, saying 'yes, Frank, that is a good plan. A good plan.' It's the only plan I can see. The only plan that doesn't have years of more pain ahead. The only plan that I know can end as happily as a suicide and happily-ever-afters can-
"He's here!"
I turn numbly towards the sound, my eyes unfocused and blank. All I see is a figure- the face means nothing- and it is staring at me, with black holes for eyes, it's black mouth opening with muffled cries, shouts that I don't mean enough to be heard.I watch the figure, see the unfocused features on it's face twist into different expressions, expressions that don't mean enough to be seen.
Another figure comes. It is bigger than the other figure. Older than the other figure. It bends to look at me with no face. It's features also twist into an expression that does not need to be seen. It opens it's mouth. It says, "Are you alright?"
I say, "Please kill me."
I turn away. I close my eyes. I hear something. A gasp, I think.
I say, "It'll make them happy."
Once they find Luke, I face suspension and then two years of hell in the prison I used to call home, way back when.
I feel like I'm still in a dream. I want to follow Gerard to make sure he gets home okay, but then part of me can't find the energy to get up any more. I feel like I'm just waiting to wake up, trapped in sleep-lock, waiting for my brain to notice that I'm done sleeping and let me take control again. I can't find it in me to care. I can't find it in me to think even a few minutes ahead, to decide what I'll do, what I'll say to explain what I did. I can't find those thoughts, that ones that could help me. All I can think about, all I can remember, is how I've failed. How I've given up, and decided that there's no way I can fix anything. Which kind of death is painless. What to write in the note I'll leave when I eventually try again.
Maybe I do need help. Just a little.
I can't pretend that I don't think it's a bad idea. I can't lie and say there's that part of me that's telling me 'no'.
Because all of me wants it now. All of me is nodding, saying 'yes, Frank, that is a good plan. A good plan.' It's the only plan I can see. The only plan that doesn't have years of more pain ahead. The only plan that I know can end as happily as a suicide and happily-ever-afters can-
"He's here!"
I turn numbly towards the sound, my eyes unfocused and blank. All I see is a figure- the face means nothing- and it is staring at me, with black holes for eyes, it's black mouth opening with muffled cries, shouts that I don't mean enough to be heard.I watch the figure, see the unfocused features on it's face twist into different expressions, expressions that don't mean enough to be seen.
Another figure comes. It is bigger than the other figure. Older than the other figure. It bends to look at me with no face. It's features also twist into an expression that does not need to be seen. It opens it's mouth. It says, "Are you alright?"
I say, "Please kill me."
I turn away. I close my eyes. I hear something. A gasp, I think.
I say, "It'll make them happy."