Taurus Falling

The promise of death is ever present. It is there, in the back of his mind. Wherever he goes, whatever acts he commits. It teases him by always sitting just out of reach of the brush of his fingertips.

Today he turns fourteen.

He lays on his back on the bank of the stream, hair wet and flowing along with the gentle current as he rests his head in the shallow water. His right arm drapes across his chest, limp inside the cast containing it.

The babbling of the water in his ears is soothing. Staring up at the stars that twinkle down upon him from the night sky, he fidgets with the handle of the knife in his left hand, a dull ache in his chest.

How poetic.

His cheeks dimple as he draws the knife up to his throat, letting his eyes flutter closed, lips parted slightly. His heart skips when the tip of the knife pierces the bandages there, poking through to flesh that never sees the sun.

"It would be so simple, really." His hand falters and shakes as he gulps, his breath quickening as he contemplates how much force he should use to get it over with in one go.

A smaller hand takes purchase over his in the time he stops to think, stilling his movements and wrenching the knife from his grip in one fluid motion.

Nothing is ever that simple.