The House of Immortals
Suicide
He looked over the small railing, looking at the water underneath, and he seemed ready to jump into it along with the weights tied around both ankles. He took one long look at the clear, black sky and a breath of fresh, chilled air and hoisted himself up on the rail.
"Mikey, don't!" A someone called, running up to the railing. He grabbed the suicidal boy down violently. He held Mikey's wrists together, making them mock handcuffs. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Leave me alone," Mikey shouted. The voice seemed to echo across the vacant premises.
"Quiet, do you want to make everyone up!" The other whispered intensely. "Now answer me, why were you pulling a stunt like this? You know it would do nothing more then freak everyone out, including yourself. You know you wouldn't die so why try and kill yourself?"
Mikey spat on his captors feet and kicked him one to no avail.
"Let me go, I want to die! I want to feel real humanity for a change. Don't you ever feel want to?" Mikey said, kicking with a more successful result. His captor released him but grabbed his hands. The red iris' of Lucien Cabot met with the brown eyes of Michel Beckett.
"I lost any human part of me some time ago, you know that," Lucien replied coldly.
"You don't even remember what it was like to be mortal. Your lucky!" Mikey cried out. "I don't want to be this way. I'm permanently a sixteen year old. I won't age. Every plan I made, every expectation I had- it doesn't matter because I'll never grow up. All my hopes and dreams were smashed because I'm always a sixteen years old. I want to become an adult, I want to have experiences, I want to be really feel alive. I want to die so that I know I really am alive. I mean, do I look like someone who has a reason to live?"
He certainly didn't. He was a teenager in only a jacket and jeans much too big for him, which emphasized how thin and scrawny his pathetic little body was. His skin was a sort of beige, from both a tan and years of being a chain smoker. His hair was dirt brown with hints of blond in it. His eyes were large and paranoid. He smelled exactly like a frequently used ashtray. He reminded Lucien of a sick, once-cute puppy that needed to be put down for it's own good. Everything about the kid had suggested this analogy.
"But you can't kill yourself to feel alive. I know you feel really shitty but there is nothing we can do. If you jumped off all you would do is get yourself hurt, lost, and scared. Not to mention what your brother would do to me. Come on, let's go back into the house," Lucien said.
"I hate that house," Mikey said.
"I know you do," Lucien said, beginning to pull the boy back to the house that they lived in.
"Mikey, don't!" A someone called, running up to the railing. He grabbed the suicidal boy down violently. He held Mikey's wrists together, making them mock handcuffs. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Leave me alone," Mikey shouted. The voice seemed to echo across the vacant premises.
"Quiet, do you want to make everyone up!" The other whispered intensely. "Now answer me, why were you pulling a stunt like this? You know it would do nothing more then freak everyone out, including yourself. You know you wouldn't die so why try and kill yourself?"
Mikey spat on his captors feet and kicked him one to no avail.
"Let me go, I want to die! I want to feel real humanity for a change. Don't you ever feel want to?" Mikey said, kicking with a more successful result. His captor released him but grabbed his hands. The red iris' of Lucien Cabot met with the brown eyes of Michel Beckett.
"I lost any human part of me some time ago, you know that," Lucien replied coldly.
"You don't even remember what it was like to be mortal. Your lucky!" Mikey cried out. "I don't want to be this way. I'm permanently a sixteen year old. I won't age. Every plan I made, every expectation I had- it doesn't matter because I'll never grow up. All my hopes and dreams were smashed because I'm always a sixteen years old. I want to become an adult, I want to have experiences, I want to be really feel alive. I want to die so that I know I really am alive. I mean, do I look like someone who has a reason to live?"
He certainly didn't. He was a teenager in only a jacket and jeans much too big for him, which emphasized how thin and scrawny his pathetic little body was. His skin was a sort of beige, from both a tan and years of being a chain smoker. His hair was dirt brown with hints of blond in it. His eyes were large and paranoid. He smelled exactly like a frequently used ashtray. He reminded Lucien of a sick, once-cute puppy that needed to be put down for it's own good. Everything about the kid had suggested this analogy.
"But you can't kill yourself to feel alive. I know you feel really shitty but there is nothing we can do. If you jumped off all you would do is get yourself hurt, lost, and scared. Not to mention what your brother would do to me. Come on, let's go back into the house," Lucien said.
"I hate that house," Mikey said.
"I know you do," Lucien said, beginning to pull the boy back to the house that they lived in.