!WARNING!
This chapter contains content that some readers may find disturbing and/or triggering. If you are sensitive to certain subjects, I recommend you skip this part. Thanks!
. . . But seriously. This one is GRAPHIC. If you thought any of the last ones were bad, PLEASE skip this one because you WILL NOT like it. This chapter contains EXTREMELY graphic content that may trigger bad memories for some readers, or even some things worse. If you are sensitive to this type of topic, PLEASE do not continue for your own sake. Thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~
The absolute second I arrive home the next day, my legs collapse beneath me and I fall to the ground, already sobbing uncontrollably. My entire body begins to tremble as tears begin to pour from my sockets. Though whether it is caused by relief, fear, or simply utter despair, I am entirely unsure. My emotions are a mess right now, and they have been all day. As can be expected, with what is to come next.
Papyrus is working a late shift tonight, which proves perfectly convenient for me. If he was home, there is no way whatsoever I would get away with doing what I am about to do. Although, now that I think about it, I could easily have just left my post early. . .
. . . Which proves just another reason why I can't do anything right. If I would have just thought of that so much earlier in the day, I wouldn't have to risk him coming home at all. . .
But, whether he cares or not, it all will have the same outcome, so matter it not for right now.
The tears continue to pour out of my sockets as this rush of emotions snakes its way past, until finally I am left curled into a tight ball, shaking and sobbing silently to myself. As soon as I can find enough strength within myself to move, I begin to inch my way across the floor, leaving it soaked in tears that I didn't even know were still coming out. Finally, I reach the cabinet where all of our plates, bowls, cups, and medicine is stored. The second I open it, my hand knocks into a pile of dishes, sending it clattering down and shattering on the floor. A tremor of pain shoots briefly through the arm that Thorn injured, but right now, that is the least of my worries.
Now that the plates have gone, the several pill bottles stored at the back of the cabinet are revealed, and completely within my reach. Quickly, before I have time to change my mind, I snatch up every single one of them and unscrew the lids. I stare hesitantly down at the contents inside of each, knowing that I hold the very difference between life and death in my hands.
I spread them out on the floor, counting out each and every one of the pills in front of me.
122, 123, 124. 124 pills, exactly.
It's not exactly my ideal amount, but if it has even a chance of ending this agony once and for all, it's fine by me.
I pick them up handfuls at a time, forcing them down my throat. It is difficult to get them to actually go down, especially since I have to swallow all of them whole, but I have to get this over with quickly, no matter how painful it is to choke them all down. It's the only way, I keep telling myself, it's the only way to finally end my pain.
By the time the last few pills are finally gone, I am already feeling sick. But I chalk that up to me having to force them down when my throat had clearly been protesting. It shouldn't be for at least another hour until I begin to really feel the symptoms of pill overdose. Trust me, I should know. Which does happen to remind me, I've got a lot to do before then.
Quickly, I crawl my way into the living room, where I search the table next to the couch for paper and a pen. After what seems like an eternity of searching, I finally find what I had been hoping for.
My fingers move rapidly over the page in front of me as I scribble down every last thought on my mind. Well, those I'm willing to share, anyway. There are some things inside of my mind that, even I can hardly bear. I would never want to share those thoughts with another soul, because even just the thought of someone else having to think or feel those things sends a chill tumbling down my spine. Most of these Monsters are already living in hell anyway, let alone what my thoughts would add. Heck, if there is anywhere worse than hell it's still bound to be better than dealing with what I feel. I'd choose that over this any day, without question.
The page comes to an end much sooner than I realize, giving me time only to put a small fraction of what I had prepared to. But, I said what I felt sufficed, and so be it the end.
Now all that's left to do is wait.
To wait it out, slowly, agonizingly, until the pills finally begin to take their strike. And gradually, I will cripple: it will start with just some dizziness. Loss of balance. Lack of breath. Drowsiness and confusion. But then, the other things will start to come into effect. Dehydration. Headache. Abdominal cramps so horrendously painful they make me gag, my body telling me to get rid of this poison consuming me but my mind fighting back, so desperate to be free for once in my life.
And then, the hallucinations will start.
Flashbacks will rack my mind, teasing and taunting my every movement, every breath. I will see visions of shadows dancing over the walls, images being played over and over both inside and outside my head. Creatures looming over me like the darkness that already does. Demons and angels both wrestling to take control; arguing in front of my very conscience, my entire existence, over which of them I belong with more.
By this point, the pain will be excruciating, gripping my body like a pulsing welt that is swelling up and ready to explode. I will have thrown up multiple times by then, but scarcely notice over the harrowing pain that is shaking me inside and out. I will watch as everything I've forced inside of me is forced back out, only hoping that everything can finally end, that this pain will stop and everything will finally be over.
My Soul will start beating, faster and faster, harder and harder, until it hurts just as much, if not more, than everything else. If I didn't know the reason behind this, I would be fearing for my life. All I will be able to do at this point is wait. I will wait patiently, yet eternally desperate, for the ending that I have been looking for.
And then, everything just stops.
Suddenly, like a speeding car slamming its brakes at the very last second.
Everything will stop, and everything will go white, and then black.
And then I'll either die shortly after passing out, and finally everything will be over and done.
Or, I will wake up in Alphys' GODDAMN LAB only to find that my attempt had been unsuccessful, and all of that suffering had been for nothing. And then, back to this hell I live in we go, waiting endlessly for another chance to finally strike. No one would ever bring it up again, and surely it wouldn't have made a difference if only my attempt had really been successful.
But then, another thought hits my mind:
That time.
It didn't work then.
It didn't work last time, and I had used nearly twice the amount of pills then that I did just now. If it didn't work then, with the amount that I used, what the hell makes me think that this would be enough? After all of that, you'd think that I'd have learned. No, this won't be enough on its own. I have to use something else.
I shakily stand up, sluggishly approaching the front door. My legs tremble beneath me as I take step after step towards what will hopefully help with my case. A gust of frigid air enters the room as it is opened, and the cold strikes my body in an almost refreshing way. The cold has a completely different aura to it now than it has the past few days, although it could just be because my outlook on it has changed so much since then. Besides, it's not like the cold is something I should even be worried about anymore, considering I'm not going to be around it for very much longer anyway.
My limbs continue to shake, and adrenaline is pumping through me as I step outside. I trudge my way through the knee-deep snow and push open the creaky, wooden door of the shed, scanning the room for the objects I am looking for. Finally, my eyes settle on a firm coil of rope that is hanging from a nail on the opposite side of the room. I dash over to it, lifting it feverishly off of the wall and hoisting it over my shoulder, with my arm through the middle of the coil. Next, I turn to a tiny grey stool that is sitting just next to the door, and I pick that up on my way out, too.
As I begin to travel the short distance back to the house, a scuffle of movement catches my attention from my peripheral vision. I turn, alarmed, to see a little monster kid with no arms peeking out from behind a cluster of trees, watching with wide eyes. It's likely he has no idea what is going on, but I might as well be friendly to him while I can. After all, I'll have no need to do so after this.
I push down my fear as I force a grin onto my face and wave, which only seems to startle him even more. At this point, he dashes out from his hiding place, speeding past me in the direction of Grillby's. I let out a long sigh, grateful that I don't have to feel like an actor trapped in an eternal facade any longer. As long as that kid doesn't tell anybody, which he probably won't, he is the least of my problems right now. As soon as he is out of sight, everything comes rushing back.
At last, I arrive back inside the comfort of my not-at-all-comfortable home. Carelessly, I tuck the letter into a pale envelope and toss it nonchalantly onto the table near the door, then turn back to my supplies. There is only one last stop to make before I climb those stairs for the very last time.
I shuffle my way hopelessly into the kitchen, my biggest comfort in knowing that it will all be over soon. I yank open the silverware drawer with more force than I meant to, sending a few knives clambering over the edge, where they land just next to my feet. I select the largest one in the drawer, then turn and creep my way back over the pile and up the stairs to my bedroom, without even bothering to close the drawer.
I shut the door, then drop the items I am carrying and collapse onto my mattress with a sigh. I am beginning to feel a little woozy by now, but I seriously doubt that the pills alone are going to be enough to do this. Which is exactly why I have brought all of these other items into the mix.
My Soul is pumping, my body is shaking, adrenaline is rushing, and in this moment I truly do not know whether I am more excited, sad, or afraid. Because despite the excitement of knowing I won't have to suffer any longer. . . deep inside of me, there's a part of me that's still. . .
Afraid.
Finding my absolute last fragment of motivation, I slide off of my mattress and pick up the rope. The shaking of my hands has only increased, and I can barely hold the rope at all without dropping it. First I straighten it out, then form the S shape needed to start a noose. I never really took the time to actually learn to tie one, so obviously it took me several long and agonizingly debilitating attempts. After try after try of failed noose, I finally got one to hold after I had looped the rope around a few times. To my satisfaction, the noose continued to hold after I had completed the knot and pulled it tight. Now I just have to tie it to something. But, what?
I glance up, focusing on a tiny hook that appears to be drilled into my ceiling. Most likely by the previous owner of this house, for whatever reason they had. Little should I care right now. I move the stool into position directly underneath the hook, then reach up and am just tall enough with the stool to tie the rope around it, although I am unsure if it will be tight enough to hold. Man, do I ever wish I was taller right now.
And finally, everything is set. Which leaves only one final task to complete before I will hang from that rope for the rest of my living moments.
I take a seat on the ground next to my door, picking up the knife and gazing down at it's smooth, silvery blade. I selected well. Carefully, I roll up each of my sleeves, analysing each and every slice that already engulfs them. Without hesitation, I press the icy blade onto my left arm, filling the clean space with cuts of every shape and size. When my left arm is finally full, I move on to my right, and continue on each until both of them are nothing more than a bloody mess that is spilling onto the floor below. Once again, the tears begin to flow. God, I am so weak. At last, I drop the knife, eager for the final step in ending my suffering.
I stumble as I stand, knowing that finally, everything is beginning to take effect. There is no way I'm going to fail now.
And yet, despite the relief of knowing that after everything I've been through, it all can finally end. . . my Soul is racing with suspense, and my entire body is trembling with fear. What is going to happen if I really do wake up? How much worse could it possibly get? I'm just a stupid, lazy, pathetic, useless, weak, ugly, worthless piece of shit. I don't deserve to live, no matter how good or bad my life could possibly be.
In fact, by doing this, I'm doing the Underground a favour.
I can barely bring myself to move as I lift the end of the noose and place it around my neck; my arms are shaky, weak, and the slightest movement makes them sting; I am feeling dizzy and disoriented; and I feel edgy and alert against every noise, every sight, every feeling I endure. Blood is now beginning to trickle viciously down my arms, raining down into a puddle on the floor at either side of me. The only thing that is giving me comfort, and the only thing that has done so in a very long time, is the delicate press of the rope around my neck, and the knowledge that after this, everything will be alright.
I stand completely stiff on the stool now, and the rope is in position. As soon as I step off of this stool, it's all over. One of two things will happen: either my neck will snap and I will die immediately (which is highly unlikely considering I wouldn't fall far enough to exert the amount of force needed to do that), or the rope will tighten around my throat and I will dangle from it, slowly suffocating as the flow of both blood and oxygen is blocked between my body and my head. The second one is a lot more painful and can seem like an eternity. But, either way, it will all have the same outcome, so matter it not to me.
Each breath comes out slow and shaky, my Soul is hammering and my knees are quivering beneath me. I'm only standing about two feet off the ground, and yet. . . it feels like so much more. I look down not onto the ground that is merely two feet below me, but instead into a bottomless pit, knowing that once I am suspended, it will only seem like more. But after this, just like I keep telling myself, it will all be over. I won't have to suffer anymore. That is what I want, isn't it?
I hesitantly lift one foot off of the stool, letting it hang limply over the edge below. I breathe slow and deep, trying to calm myself in these final moments. I lean forward only the slightest bit, double checking that the rope doesn't have any slack. It doesn't. Good. My hands are still gripping the top of the rope now, and I let go first with my right hand, allowing it to drift slowly down to my side, where it will remain. Then, my left arm follows. I shudder as it does so. And now, just like that, I am left with only a single foot holding the difference between life and death itself.
My legs are shaking so badly I'm worried I might just fall off this stool. Adrenaline is kicking through me, and my senses are currently in overdrive. I flex my fingers, feeling sweat beginning to dampen my palms. I shut my eyes, refusing to open them again for fear of chickening out. This is it. For real.
This is the end.
I breathe in one last final gulp of air, nice and slow. I exhale. I breathe in again, allowing only the tiniest amount of oxygen to enter my body. I wriggle my left foot, double checking it is still in the air. I bring all of my weight forward onto my right tiptoes, then launch my foot forward. And just like that, I am separated from the stool.
My hands shoot back up to my neck as I am lurched backwards by the rope, pulling me back towards the stool and knocking it over in the process. A jolt of pain explodes through my neck as I am suddenly left suspended in the air, with all of my bodyweight being placed on it alone. I let out as much of a grunt as can pass around the rope as it continues to tighten, and my neck begins to ache. My air supply is also cut off immediately, which leaves me struggling for oxygen that will not come. Not only is this rope choking me, it is pressing against my neck gruesomely tight, which only adds to the pain. Back and forth, back and forth I sway until the rope becomes still.
Slowly, pressure begins to build up in my head until I feel like a balloon ready to burst. Everything is just building up, with no way to get out or in. I feel dizzy and my eyes are beginning to water uncontrollably. Even if I wanted to step back onto the stool, I wouldn't have been able to; it has been knocked over, leaving it without any footholds. And so, this is truly it.
I have been hanging for no longer than a few seconds, and yet it already feels like an eternity. I try to count them in my head, but am scarcely able to think over the incredible pain I am in. I make it to just eight seconds before my train of thought is completely lost and my mind goes blank. I am faintly aware of myself coughing up a substance that is either blood or phlegm, and it dribbles warmly down my chin, along with the tears that have been forced out due to the pressure alone. The pulsing in my head continues to intensify until it literally feels like it is about to burst. All this time I still have had no air, and amongst everything else I am now starting to hallucinate.
My arms finally are unable to grip the rope and fall to my sides as I am swept in and out of reality, drifting back and forth between the darkness of my bedroom and countless memories from my childhood. They come and go as a frantic whisp, so I can only recognize certain ones. Some of them do reside longer than others, though, and I am able to distract myself from my suffering just long enough to let them briefly reside. Rapidly, my life begins to flash before my eyes.
I remember back when Papyrus and I were little. I was still in elementary school, Papyrus had only just started. He was riding on my shoulders as we ran together through the woods, laughing and playing with a sense of innocence that has been thrown to the breeze a long time ago.
I pause at a fork in the snowy path and turn to look up at him, sitting delicately on my shoulders.
"Okay, 'Little Boss', tell me where to go," I say, with a playful grin on my face.
"Mmm," he says, pondering with his tiny voice, "that way."
I turn in the direction he is pointing, bracing myself to run.
"Alright, Papy," I say, "ready to go fast?"
He nods, with a determined look spreading across his little face.
"Here we goooooo!" I shout, as we take off into the woods with him laughing joyously above me.
And then I sink briefly back into my bedroom, to find my pain has only increased. I cough up another mouthful of that same substance. It only takes a few seconds for me to drift away again.
I am brought back to my first day of third grade, when I made my first real friend. Her name was Anemone, and she was a fish monster like Undyne, though she had green skin and blonde curls that fell just above her shoulders. I had been picked on for being shorter than the other children, just as she had. One afternoon during recess, I remember cowering below the picnic bench next to the playground while other Monsters taunted me from around it. Once they had finally left, I had curled into a ball and cried to myself, waiting for recess to be over. Then, she sat down next to me and comforted me, when no one else had.
"Hi," was the first thing she said to me, as per tradition. "Are you okay? I saw them being mean to you. My name is Anemone. What is your name?"
And in that moment, I looked up and saw genuine appreciation in her eyes that I had never gotten before, from anyone but Papyrus. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes, afraid to show weakness in front of someone else. "I-I'm. . . S-Sans."
Her pale blue eyes grew wide. "That's a really cool name. I've never heard one like it before."
"Th. . . anks. . ." I said, looking away. I hadn't really learned how to interact with anyone casually yet, as I never had much of an opportunity to. And to be honest, I never really did end up learning. But, in that moment, she looked up at me and said, "you know, I don't mind it if you cry. It's good to cry; it means you still have emotions, unlike the rest of them."
And then I laughed, in a real, genuine way. She was the only person I ever trusted from that day on, and was one of the few people who really played a positive impact in my life.
Once again, I am brought back to my bedroom. My pain is unbearable by now, and I desperately wish for it all to just end. My vision is blurring in and out of focus, and my body is beginning to convulse in a sort of death rattle.
I am whirled down into the fifth grade, when Papyrus had reached third. I had always had a very weak ability to control my emotions, and so one day after a particularly difficult bought of torment from the folks at school, I had simply collapsed in the corner and began to sob. Papyrus dropped down beside me (he had always been so much smaller than me until his growth spurt in the seventh grade) and asked, with concern in his voice, "Sans, what's wrong? Brother, why are you crying? Please tell me?"
At that moment my father walked in, just as Papyrus reached out to comfort me and I cowered away. "Papyrus," he demanded, "how dare you hurt Sans horribly enough to make him cry?"
Both of our heads shot up at the exact same moment, and Papyrus started, "I-I didn't-", but was not quick enough. My father, whom I refuse to acknowledge as anything more than 'G', snatched him away from me and threw him down in the opposite corner. I watched for hours as Papyrus was beaten by our father, and yet I didn't speak up once. I was too afraid to even make a single noise, for fear of winding up in that same position. Ever since that day, Papyrus and my relationship with each other had steadily drifted apart. He never looked at me in that same way again. To this day, he carries a scar through the centre of his left eye socket, brought upon him by this very event.
By now, I have lost feeling in most of my body and my pain is finally beginning to lessen. I am still convulsing, but am becoming weaker with every movement.
I am taken to seventh grade now. I remember that year well.
That was the year I lost my only friend.
I recall exactly what had happened. Those goddamn bullies had caught her off-guard outside of school hours, and beaten her until she was practically dust. She had been rushed to the hospital where she died in my arms just three days later. I still remember the very last thing she ever said to me: "Stay strong, Sans. If it hadn't been for you, I don't know where I'd have wound up. I probably would have left the Underground a long time ago. . . on my. . ." here she paused to cough, "m-my own accord. But thanks to you, I-I've-" her breathing became raspy, and she began to struggle for breath. "I've finally found happiness. . . don't ever believe what they tell you, like I did. . . don't ever think like I did, just, please, stay strong. And no matter what, don't. . . ever. . ."
"Anemone, please," I cried, "please don't die. You're the only one I have. . ."
"D-don't. . . ever. . ."
"What!? D-don't ever what?"
"T-take. . . y. . . y-your. . . your. . ." Slowly, her eyes began to close and her breathing began to slow.
"Anemone, please!" I cried, but it was too late. I stood in horror as she turned to dust in front of my very eyes, and felt it trickle through my very fingers like water through a strainer. To this day I had never been able to guess what she had been trying to tell me, although finally I think I know. I've found it just a little too late. I'm so stupid. . .
I still can't remember the names of the five bullies who did that to her. All I remember is that one of them began with the letter 'M', and another with the letter 'R'. I made it my goal to find them and give them what they deserved, although that never really did end up happening.
At last, my pain has finally gone; I am completely numb. One last single tear rolls down my face: I haven't thought of Anemone in a very long time, and probably wouldn't have again if it weren't for that memory.
I remember freshman year in high school.
Worst year of my life.
Turns out, the crowd there was even worse than that of the elementary school. I would get called things like 'freak', 'creep', or 'weirdo' on a daily basis, just for dressing dark and not saying a word. Nowadays, it's quite uncommon to see someone not dressed in all black or red. My grades fell drastically that year, and it was only due to my own ambitions that I was ever able to pick them up again the next year. Various memories from throughout high school speed up and pass by in a blur, only adding more to the mix of memories I don't recognise.
I once again swoop back into what little piece of reality is left for me. My perception of time must be very off due to these memories, because if I had really been hanging this long I certainly would have died by now. Right?
Next comes my graduation.
Both of my parents had died at some point between the eighth and tenth grade, one of them due to illness and another due to an 'accident' in the Core. Also known as my father's suicide.
I now had no one to support me on that day, and I desperately wanted to feel like someone, anyone felt proud of me for what I had achieved to even make it that far. Papyrus and I had lost whatever was left of our relationship long ago, but he was the only person I had left in my life that I wasn't completely invisible to. I begged him to come, begged for hours on end, though he continuously denied that he would. He insisted that he didn't have time for something as stupid as that, when he could have instead been out training for his dream to become a royal guardsman, or working on an assignment that somehow always managed to keep our grades competing with each other for the top. In fact, I probably would have gone off to college or a higher form of education if it weren't for all the discouragement I had received throughout my life.
I remembered staring anxiously out amongst the crowd as I stood up there next to the podium awaiting my diploma, desperately hoping to see Papyrus there. And yet, my efforts proved unsuccessful. As I was leaving, however, I spotted a tall, shadowy silhouette watching me from the corner with their arms crossed. To this day I do not know whether it was Papyrus or not; he would always deny it whenever I asked him. I could only ever hope that it really was. To this day, I still am unsure.
I pop back in once more, and just as quick as I'm back, the room vanishes yet again.
I remember the day I got my jacket. It was my birthday that day, I believe. I sat nervously on the couch, waiting for Papyrus to get home from his day of training from Undyne. He must have graduated not long before then, as it only took him a few months to actually make it into the guard after he started his official training. I hadn't expected to actually get anything that day, as I hadn't received anything since I was very young. And so, it caught me off-guard when he walked in holding a cardboard box that day.
"Here you go, you piece of shit," he said, tossing it to me before vanishing into the kitchen.
I opened it slowly, still trying to process what had just happened. My eyes widened as I removed the new jacket and placed it around my body; it fit like a glove. I don't even remember how many times I thanked Papyrus for that, and every time he would simply respond with "yeah, yeah," in an annoyed fashion, and move on to whatever else he was doing.
This time, I don't fade back to the world at all. Am I dead yet? I can't even tell. My perception of time has already been set off by a mile, so even if I was, I wouldn't be sure. At least, I think.
Now, I remember 'last time'.
The first time I tried to take my own life, and failed.
I am forced to relive the experience yet again, trauma, pain, suffering and all, before it finally fades.
Come on. Again? I've got to be dead by now.
Finally, I am taken back to just a few days ago with Magnus, and it all replays in front of my very mind.
And now finally, there is just white. All I see is white. White here, white there, it's all the same blinding white for miles. I can't move my body. I can't see, I can't feel, I can barely hear a thing.
"Sans?"
A voice echoes in and out of my mind.
"Sans?! S-Sans, c-can you hear me? Sans?"
That's my name. Don't wear it out.
I smile to myself, though in only my conscience. Physically, well, I will never smile again.
And then the white fades away to leave only an empty black, black, black forever. An infinite pool of just black, and yet, nothing at all. And also one other thing. A feeling.
No, more than a feeling. Something more eternal than even the cosmos itself. Something so powerful, so universal, that it has been sewn into the very bindings of the Multiverse itself; something beyond the reach of even the vastest of mindsets. The eternal force of the universe, tying pre-existence and post-existence together into an absolute law of timeless tranquillity. Sending me a message, almost as though it was speaking to me, without even speaking at all. Its message is simple:
It's okay.
Everything is.
Everything is okay.
Everything is peaceful, everything is serene.
Everything is going to be okay.
You are going to be okay.
You.
Me. I'm going to be okay.
And you know what? I don't regret this decision. I don't regret taking my own life.
Why? Because just as this everlasting void is telling me:
Everything is finally going to be okay.
~~~~~~~~~~
Suicide is NOT the answer. If you or anyone you love is dealing with seriously suicidal thoughts, PLEASE talk to someone or contact the suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255. You ARE loved. You ARE worth it! To me, and to so many others! <3
This book is not over yet, but I have an important announcement posted right after this chapter that I felt needed to be included. Please take a look at that. Thanks!