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Maroon coated the bathroom floor, yet there was no panic. Schlatt admired the blood pooling beside him. He was more intrigued rather than concerned about the amount of blood leaving via his arm at that moment.
All he wanted was peace. Not the peace of his own country, in which he would be responsible soon enough. He wanted peace in himself. Peace that he couldn't achieve when his mother was hitting him daily and making him feel worthless. Peach he couldn't achieve when his father was assaulting him in ways he'd rather keep to himself. Pure peace.
The blood pouring from his arm with every beat of his heart helped him feel the beginning of this. He needed to feel better. He liked seeing the blood; in a sick way it felt beautiful to him.
The release he was craving seemed to inch up onto him much slower than he’d like. His vision blurred as he tried to shift on the cold tile, he couldn’t tell where the razor was anymore, yet he still searched to no avail. It was a futile thing really. One last “fuck you” to his parents. Dying on their bathroom floor. Bleeding on his mother’s favorite shower curtain; all of it was really petty.
He knew they wouldn’t even give him a funeral. They wouldn’t give his body a proper burial. They wouldn’t do anything that they should as “loving” parents. They’ll just pay someone to clean up the blood and throw his body into the river along with the people condemned to death. He wouldn’t be respected in death, and he was okay with that. Nobody would remember him and that’s alright. He didn’t care anymore.
His heart rate slowed slightly. He felt as if the end of his life was near. Did he do everything he wanted to? Not even close. I mean, everyone is still calling him “him”. Sure he got to date someone, but that someone wasn’t worth it.
Used all of his life, was this how he died? He didn’t do anything useful with himself, so why would it even matter? Who would care? Nobody. Maybe some of the ladies at his bible study would mourn for a couple of minutes, maybe his half-sister would even shed a tear. He doubts it.
His vision darkened slowly from the outside in, and there he went. He slipped into blissful darkness. Peace. He let go finally.
At least for a minute.
A couple of hours later, he blinked back into consciousness. His pants and sleeves were soaked with blood. Orienting himself, he looked around. He was still in that godforsaken bathroom. Escape was a futile gesture, he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. He’d be stuck with his mother and father until they finally died the deaths they deserved.
Steadying himself on the edge of the sink, Schlatt attempted to stand up. He didn’t expect to be able to, considering that there was at LEAST a gallon of blood on the floor. His right arm hoisted him up to his feet, his left hanging limply by his side.
His knees buckled slightly when he attempted to let go of the sinks edge. Blinking his vision back into focus, he actually observes the mess that he’s made. The floor was coated in blood, his arm had one long laceration going across the length of it. The cut was gaping by an inch and the skin around it was irritated and burning. All he did was sigh to himself. Another failed attempt, many more to go.