:.Leave me here.: to die. [Open]

[Rosetta]

Aaden Gorozine

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They know.

They all know.

It should’ve been a normal day. But, it didn’t end up that way. You know that feeling you get when you tell someone a secret and then later, you know you shouldn’t have said that? Well, that’s what happened to me. You think you can trust a guy, but no, you can’t. It wasn’t my fault. I checked out one guy, big whoop. I’ve been doing that since I was fifteen. But, he noticed. He was my good friend, was being the key word here. His name was Logan and he noticed. He gave that look with the inquiring eyes, knit eyebrows. I high-tailed it out of the locker room, but he caught up with me in the hallway, still wearing his jersey from football practice.

“Hey, man, what’s wrong?” There had been genuine concern in his voice. That’s what I fell for. That’s where I went wrong.

“I-nothing,” I’d paused, not meeting his eyes, but rather staring at his mud-coated shoes.

“Look, I saw how you looked a Rodney back there. You can tell me if there’s anything, like, going on.” Again, that softness, that trusting tone fell in between the cadences of his voice. I still couldn’t look at him, but I’d shrugged. This seemed to right time to tell. Logan cared, right? We were friends. I could tell him. I had to. I was tired of keeping this secret held like some painful lump in my throat.

“I…I, uhm…I’m gay, Logan,” I said softly, barely audibly.

“Wait, what?” Logan asked and this time, I met his wide, blue eyes.

“I’m gay,” I declared, my heart beating hard against my chest.

“Oh, man…” he said. I didn’t notice then how he had stepped away, like I was contagious or something. “How do you know?” I didn’t hesitate that time. I’d had already tread into high waters. Now, I would have to keep going. I talked about my brother-my step-brother, so it doesn’t make it incest. All the while, I never noticed how much Logan shrunk away from me, the leper telling him his story. When I was finished, Logan had forced a smile. I’d failed to see through it.

“I understand, Aaden.”

“You do?” I had asked, relief that would only be temporary welling up inside my chest. Logan nodded.

“Now, I gotta go,” he had said and hurried off, his muddy sneakers squeaking against the newly cleaned floor. And after that, I’d gone home, an anxious feeling in my stomach.

But, I never thought of what would happen.

The next day, the boys of the football team took me behind the school building. They said they had a surprise for me.

Apparently surprise to them registers into: beat the crap out of me. Which they proceeded to do, hitting me, kicking me, calling this name and that. All because of what I told Logan, who had been there too, hitting alongside the others, laughing and giggling, like this was all some game. Not to me, of course as I lay there, pain erupting with each punch or kick, my screams meaning little, as blood pooled under me. I thought I was going to die.

But, I was saved by some teachers. They stopped the boys and sent me home, failing to ask why I’d been beat up so viciously. I didn’t tell my mom the truth, when she creased her forehead and asked, dabbing at my wounds with a washcloth. I said I’d been in a fight over football.

But, my step-brother, James, he knew. He came home with a black eye, which I found to be quite a feat, seeing as he’s over six feet tall and bulky-which means, no one would want to go after him. He came right to the room we shared, where I was in bed, groaning as pain overwhelmed me. As soon as the door was shut, he began to shout.

“Who the hell did you tell?” he demanded to know, approaching my bed, his face as red as a cherry. “Who?”

“I-I,” I stuttered and James’s face grew purple.

“They attacked me too! They called me all these names, all because of you!” he cried out, stomping his feet so hard he could’ve caused an earthquake. Luckily, our parents were the ones who heard. Before he could go on, they were crashing into the room, asking what was going on. But, James, although he’d barely started, was through, and scrambled from the room.

And a day later, on the day of the Reaping, I could still feel the agony of his words and the attack on my skin. They all knew now. My parents were forced to face the strain too. They heard the words hurtled at them too, even by other parents. Despite this, our entire family being affected, we didn’t band together to deal with it. Instead, we stayed away from one another. Even on the day of the Reaping.

I had walked a little bit ahead of my mother, not even feeling her eyes on my back, but on my shoes. I ignored the hecklers shouting in my direction and the stares. I’d ignored the pain. I’d ignored it all. Taking my place amongst the other eighteens, I’d stared straight ahead.

And for the first time in my life, I’d prayed it would be me.

I’d prayed to be sent away to that horrible death. I just couldn’t stay there anymore. Not after what happened. I couldn’t face the name-calling, the fists, the stares. Then, I couldn’t go home and face the disappointment that hung heavily over the scene. I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d rather die…

I’d wanted to die.

With bated breath, holding in a different kind of air than that of the teenagers around me, I waited for the names. They came like baseballs, like the punches, like the kicks, like the words.

And it wasn’t me.

Relief spread over the crowd around me-for some people-, but for others, horror. There had been silence, soft crying, moans, sighing.

For me, it had been disappointment. I’d walked home that day, feeling worse then I had been a day ago. It took me days to finally get myself out of my room. I needed to get moving. They were all asleep as I got up. It was late. I needed fresh air, needed time to think away from James. It was late as I slipped out of my house and began to run. I didn’t know where I was running to. I was just running. I needed to run.

Pretty sketchy, huh?

Well, I needed to be alone. And it was alone in an alley that I collapsed against the wall and began to cry. For once since all this shit began, I started to cry. Sob even. Racking sobs. Here lies Aaden Gorozine, who likes boys, who likes his brother-or did, and is crying about it. But, I no longer cared.

What was I to do anyway? Even my own family didn’t want to talk to me. What was the point of living? And on that thought, my eyes fell upon the broken beer bottle in the alley with me. Slowly, with trembling hands, I reached towards it. The stars on the bottle reflected my wild, red, sorrowful eyes back at me. The end was sharp. It was just enough to get me out of here.

I raised it up, my heart pounding over my left wrist. This was it. Soon, I’d be rid of this place. Dead, gone. Perfect. No more words thrown at me, no more fists. My family would be whole again. I only needed to pull this bottle down upon my pale skin. But, I didn’t do it immediately. I sat there, my rear getting wet from the puddle I’d collapsed into, that bottle raised up, waiting…

What I was waiting for, I was unsure.[/color][/size][/justify][/blockquote]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

“Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most.”
Roseus Wilter

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Well, if there was one thing for certain, Roseus was certainly out of tune that night. She had been told by her makeup company to go pick up a package from the post office right after she had got off of work, but instead, she went home and took a nap, only to later wake up and remember that she still had something to do. Damn. Why do they send me for this, it’s not my factory, I only oversee one floor. Pulling herself up off from the couch, she ran a hand through her hair and wiped the corners of her eyes. Looking around the room, she saw her parents sitting at the dinner table casually talking. Tentatively, she put her feet on the floor and forced herself up, walking past the table to the door where her sandals sat, awaiting another journey. “Hey Rose, where ya going?” Turning away from the door, she saw the last syllable leave her dad’s lips, allowing her to understand who she should respond to. “Oh, uh, I just need to make a trip to the post office. The old lady at the front desk told me to pick up a package, but I fell asleep, so I need to get it now.” Her parents both nodded and turned back to their conversation, picking up where they had left off. With quiet movements as not to disturb them, she strapped on her sandals and flipped her bag over her head and unlocked the door, stepping out after she did so, allowing the cold air of night to envelope her.

Tucking her hands neatly into the pockets of her light blue jacket, she looked down at the ground as the world around her passed by. Well, this really is all my fault, I fell asleep, so I guess I’ll just have to pay the small price for it, even though I would have loved to stay home today. She slightly shook her blonde hair; partially at herself for being so careless and lackadaisical and at the factory, who had no right to send her out on work all of a sudden like that. The way she figured it, why couldn’t the old lady herself walked down the post office? Her legs weren’t broken, she could still walk. She could still walk down to the post-office without a cane or a walker. But in a selfish way, she also asked why they couldn’t have sent another floor overseer to do the work. What about Vash, the girl on the mascara floor? She hardly works anyway! Why, in the name of all that is righteous, do they send the girl that works her ass off for that factory, when they should send the girl that falls asleep in her office space? Make her work for once! Lifting her eyes from the grey concrete ground, she directed them forwards and rolled them, trying to work out the logic behind what the factory was doing.

Winding down the streets, Roseus barely knew where she was walking. It was like she had a built in GPS, but then again, almost everybody did. Everybody in District 9 had the uncanny ability to be able to know where something was in their district without being told where to go. She figured that it was probably after years and years of being crammed in one small place, you would have had to have been everywhere that there was to go. And to be honest, there weren’t too many places to go, because as mentioned before, District 9 was a pretty small place. There were only a few schools, a few shops that everybody went to, and then there was of course the factories that lined the streets. And of course because it was the District’s industry, everybody knew which factory was which. You could take any random citizen, and take them to a random factory with a blindfold on. Tear off the blindfold, and within ten seconds, it was guaranteed that the person knew which factory it was. If you were to do the same thing at least ten times, there would be a very low chance, if not none, of them missing one.

The only way she could keep herself awake and moving was the sound that resonated from her sandals as they clicked down the street, each click hitting her eardrum like a wave, telling her to pay attention. People walked past her, and people in front of her seemed to part like the red sea, taking into notice the way anger seemed to create an aura around her. But in all honestly, the true aura that surrounded her was annoyance. Yes, she had gotten over the fact that her factory had chosen her out of all people, but she still had the right to feel upset about it. She felt glad that people knew that she was tense at that moment, because if they hadn’t cleared out of the way, she felt like she would have snapped at some random person and then picked a fight with them.

After what seemed like thirty hard hours of traveling (but was really only fifteen or so), she found herself in front of the seemingly glowing building, although she wasn’t sure if it was truly glowing because of the bright lights that shone through the window, or because she found it as her glorious ticket back home so she could drop off the package and then enjoy her three day weekend. As her pale hand closed around the handle of the door, she casually looked to her left and into the alley and her eyes caught sight of someone. Probably just a homeless person… But she couldn’t allow her feet to move.

She heard the sound of crying; the sudden inhale of breath before you would go through another wave of tears. And in the dim light, she saw something glittering, but it looked like it was in the shape of a cylinder, but at the ends the glimmering would stop at odd places. And the way he held out his left arm… the whole situation seemed odd to her. Crying… holding out his arm… the thing glittering… and then the three things clicked together, and she understood what was going on. Swinging the bag that weighted her down over her head, she dropped it by the door of the post office and walked into the alley. Getting down on her knees beside the person, her eyes widened as she looked the boy up and down. The bottle is cracked… and his arm… With a soft, gentle voice, as if she was talking to a startled horse, she spoke to him. “What are you doing with that? That bottle…”

[Rosetta]

Aaden Gorozine

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I've known since I was fifteen. It was an accident, really, but it changed my life. James was getting changed and I was flying home from a football practice, coated in a thick layer of mud, eager to just shower and get all this stuff off of me. And I walked in on him. I won't tell you how much of his clothes were off, but it was just enough to freeze me to the spot, eyes wider than saucers, my stomach jolting. For a moment, we stared at each other, stock-still, no words. Then, my eyes began to travel across his muscles, over his strong limbs, to his face. I took it all in, letting it fill me up. He didn't say a word. And I liked what I saw.

It took all my willpower to look away and pull off my mud-soaked shirt. I could feel his eyes on my back the entire time. It was odd, really. I'd never felt something like this, so exhilarated by seeing his body and exposing mine to his. It was a new kind of feeling and I liked it a lot.

It wasn't until he kissed me for the first time, my heart racing, palms sweaty that I realized. I wanted it. I wanted him. And that was when I came to the startling realization. I was gay.

At first it frightened me. I was gay? I liked boys? How could I? I mean, it just didn't seem to add up in my stereotypical mind. I played sports, I rough-housed, I've spoken in a sexist way about the cheerleader girls. I mean, how could I like boys? But, I did...and the previous signs began to click together in my mind.

I'd always liked the voices of men. They weren't as high-pitched and light at that of a girl. No, the voice of a boy who was well into puberty was rich and deep. It tasted like chocolate and melted onto my skin. Every time I walked past the choir room on the way to the locker room and the boys' choir was rehearsing, I always stopped and let it sink into me.

I found facial hair a lot better than long hair. Stubble tickled pleasantly, like when James's father gave me those awkward kisses on the cheek when Deborah made him. James had some stubble and his kisses weren't awkward and so, the feeling of it against my skin always felt so great, sending tingles down my spine.

Girls had never interested me much. They were whiney, loud and annoying. They always wanted the attention on themselves. In packs, they were the worst. Always stealing glances at you and giggling. It was maddening. How could you live with one of them always giggling, complaining and talking about themselves? I'd lose my sanity in an instant. I’d spent years telling myself I just had to find the right girl, not an annoying one, but the fact that I never did should’ve been a sign. Or maybe I was lying to myself, unwilling to believe the truth just yet.

So, in truth, my realization was startling, yes, but hardly surprising. I liked boys. I liked their bodies, especially their facial hair, their voices and their cool, fun attitudes. I liked boys and that was that. The bare, simple truth. I was gay.

But, it needed to be kept a secret. I suspected trouble if my secret got out and I was right.

My wrist was so clean and clear. In a second, it'll be ripped part. It'll be quick, right? Soon, I'll be out of this place. But, again, I couldn't move, I was frozen and it pissed me off. Just days ago, I was hoping that the name of that glass ball would be mine! That I'd be condemned to death by way of the Hunger Games. Two years ago, I'd be stepping down and watching another boy take my place. This year, I wanted it to be me. I'm sure my death on live television would've been a lot more painful than that of my own device. So, why couldn't I do it? My hand was frozen. My wrist was frozen. I was frozen.

I just wanted to be happy, alright?

Maybe I didn't want to die, but it was my only choice. I needed to escape the taunting. I didn't want to get beat up again. I wanted my family to be happy and whole again. Whole without me, but it would be mended, wouldn't it?

I know, I know, I'm weak, aren't I?

Giving up, putting down the weight on my shoulders, but I just couldn't hold it anymore. You try carrying it and you'll see what I mean. I took a deep breath, and chewed on my lower lip. It's now or never. I raised my hand high and-

A voice cut through the air and my heart nearly stopped. The hand plummeting to my death stopped short and I saw her. Great, a girl. Another whiney girl, who would just talk about herself. Or make fun of me. That's what she was here, right?

"Leave me alone," I growled up, gripping the broken piece of glass, so tightly, beads of blood found themselves drawn from my fingers and palm. "You hear to make fun of me? Beat me up?" Suddenly, fury was spitting out of my mouth, like sparks. I didn't need her to come here and bother me. I was about to escape from them all. People like her. Like all of them. Obviously here to attack me. No, just no way. I wanted out. I wanted to be left alone, to die in peace. I didn't want to die beat up with words or fists. I wanted to die completely on my terms. And that meant peace and quiet.

"I told you to go away," I spat out, hating everything about this girl from her words to the ground she stood on. “Go! Now!”

[/color][/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

“Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most.”
Roseus Wilter

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With each word that left the boy’s mouth, she felt the sting of each syllable press against her eardrums. Never before had she heard a vocalization of such force and meaning. He obviously meant what he said, or else he wouldn’t have put them in the way he did. But the one thing that was missing from his voice was his effort to convince her to actually leave. Even if he had put as much convincing and such into his voice, she wouldn’t have left either way. She wasn’t just going to say ‘ok’, go get her mail and then pretend like nothing happened.

Doing something as nonsensical and unfeeling as that would have been almost as bad as saying he could go ahead and do it now. If she left, and he actually dug that piece of glass into his heart-line, she would have been his indirect murderer. The most important person that was needed in a time when someone was getting murdered or killing themselves wasn’t the doctor, or the ambulance paramedics. It was the bystanders; the doctors aren’t going to know if there is someone about to die if someone isn’t going to alert them of it. That would be like expecting someone to fix up a torn piece of clothing without showing them where the hole is.

The thing that surprised Roseus most about this suicidal boy wasn’t the fact that he was denying himself help, but the fact that he seemed so determined to do it. He looked almost desperate to kill himself, desperate to leave behind the pain that was present in his life. The haunting question that took over her mind was what could possibly cause a person to want to end their life so badly? Even to the point of denying help? Suddenly, she felt two wires within her mind touch each-other, a spark causing the dead gears in one part of her mind to begin moving again. Why didn’t I catch this earlier? I’m such an idiot…

"You here to make fun of me? Beat me up?" Suddenly, she realized why he seemed so determined to do it. He was being teased about something, and seeing the lacerations and bruises she could faintly see in the dim light, he was obviously being beat up for it too. For what, she couldn’t begin to imagine. The possibilities were endless, she couldn’t even begin to understand why someone would want to pick on and beat upon a boy who seemed to be the type to lie back and watch. Why would somebody bully another person to their death anyway? What do they get out of it? What could they possibly gain from hurting another human being just like themselves? People like that shouldn’t be here. They just shouldn’t…

Focusing her eyes on the hand that held the glass, she saw as blood streamed down his fingers and onto his arm that was a half inch away from the first point. With wary eyes, scared that he would finally bring the shard of glass on himself, she looked at the extremely bloody hand that held the glass and his wrist, observing as drips of his life departed him and fell onto his wrist. Every few seconds, another drip would add to it, until eventually, there had been too many gathered tears, and they ran to the side of his wrist, falling to the ground beneath them.

Slowly, Roseus lifted her right hand that was absentmindedly at her side and put it on the hand that was covered in his blood, gently moving it away from his wrist towards her direction. Bringing her left hand up to hold his hand entirely, she softened her intense expression and looked into the eyes of the boy she was trying to save from death at his own hands. “Killing yourself is not the answer to your problem.” As she softly spoke, she felt like she was talking to a spooked horse, which she thought was accurate. It wasn’t much, but it was a good start.

“Why would you say that I would make fun of you. I have nothing to make fun of. And beat you up? Why on earth would I do that?” Holding his hand tighter, she glanced down on her bloodied fingers, not caring that one of her biggest fears was on her hands. When you were faced with saving someone else, you don’t really care about yourself; thinking about yourself in a moment when someone else needs you would be selfish, and that’s one thing that Roseus tried to not to be. “Why would you think that killing yourself is the way out of your problems? Why?”

[Rosetta]

“Why would you think that killing yourself is the way out of your problems? Why?”

Just as I thought. An annoying girl. Here she was, thinking that she understood. Thinking I was being an idiot or something. Typical girl behavior. But, I knew better. Soon, she’d be talking about herself, like all girls did, craving the attention for herself. Soon, the attention would be off of me.

But, seriously, was she asking me that question? Honestly? Of course this is a way out of my problems. What was I supposed to do? Allow myself get beat up every single day? Attacked? Spat it, teased? Let my family soak in all the shame until they burst? No, of course not. So, I didn’t answer. I gave her a glare to let her know I was set on my plans and studied my wrist once more.

I didn’t know what death would be like. Would I see a light or would it just go black? Would I be with other people? Or would I be alone, drowning in utter bliss. They say death is letting go. They say those who die are in a better place. Was that where I was going? A better place? A better place away from this hell hole?

And what would become of this hell hole left behind? A few years ago, a kid in my school committed suicide. He was from the poorer side of the District. He didn’t have much to his name and the mouths of a crippled father, a little sister and a mother who came in and out of his life to feed. He wasn’t doing so well in school. He was failing almost every one of his classes. And he was given a hard time a lot. And I even participated in it. We’d tease him, toss him scraps to mock his poverty and announce his bad grades to the entire class if we managed to get a hold of a test. Then, one morning, he tied a noose around a bar in his basement and hanged himself. He just couldn’t take it anymore.

He was bullied too. And suddenly, all that guilt began to press down my chest. That boy was bullied to death, pushed to the point of death. Perhaps this was karma acting on me. I’d hurt that kid, sent awful words his way and now I was getting it. It was my turn. And I was about to take the same route as him, just with different methods. A piece of glass in my wrist. Blood. Then whatever came after.

I strained my mind to think of what had become of his family, but I could only find blankness. That was probably a sign. I just had to do it. Just let go, Aaden, I told myself. Do it. Do it now, can’t you? My wrist was so tiny, so pale in the dim light. The spidery blue veins stretched out before, just waiting to be severed. I wondered what it would look like slit open. Might as well see.

Again, however, something stopped me. It was the girl. Couldn’t she leave me alone? Still clinging to that piece of glass like a lifeline, I glared at her. “Go away,” I told her bitterly. “Just leave me alone. You don’t understand. They’re going to beat me up if I stay here.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it popped out. Heat rushed into my cheeks. Great. Now, she won’t go away. Fine, if she wanted to stay, she’d have to watch me die.

I raised the glass high again, saw it flash downwards and froze. Inches from my wrist, the piece of glass stopped. Just inches. I’d frozen, remembering something. It was the girl, not the one before me. The sister of the boy, Louis, the one who’d killed himself. She was a lovely little thing, with curly blonde hair and wide, blue eyes. I’d seen her before myself, prancing around the District, bringing smiles to the faces of everyone who saw her. That was before her brother killed himself. They were together a lot. He would keep her as well fed as he could, even if it meant sacrificing his own dinner. They could be seen playing out in the field behind their house. She always laughed and smiled. He never did. That should’ve been a tell-tale sign. But, no one cared enough to pick up on it.

After he died, that light left her eyes. She stopped smiling. Her rich laughter never again left her mouth. She didn’t skip or run. She walked, shoulders hunched over, head down. Smiles didn’t follow her back any longer, but pitying eyes, pitying words. Her parents weren’t much better. Her mother left permanently after that, chased away by ghosts that lingered there. Her father was never seen out anymore. I finally realized. Their family had deteriorated.

Would that happen to me? Would the glee leave my mother’s face? Would James never smile again? Would my step-father lock himself up in the house? Wasn’t that to happen anyway? I’d hurt his family already…but, could I take myself away from them? Dig the glass in even further and leave no way to pull it out?

Clink! The piece of glass fell from my limp hands and skittered across the concrete ground. “I can’t do it,” the words dribbled off of my lips, not speaking to anyone in particularly, just the open air. “I can’t do it.” Dread was pitting in my stomach. I just couldn’t do it. With hopeless eyes, I looked up at the girl. “I can’t do it.” It wasn’t speaking to her. I wasn’t seeing her. I was seeing my family. I was seeing their blank stares, empty faces, hollow cheeks. I couldn’t do that to them, I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t it.

And it irritated me beyond belief, my weakness, but I just couldn’t do it. Not to them. Not to my family. Never. I just couldn’t do it…

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[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

“Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most.”
Roseus Wilter

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As soon as the glass shattered to the floor, Roseus felt a sense of relief come over her. Well, unless he tries to lunge for it again, then I think he’s not going to do it. At that moment, she had no idea what to do. No idea what to say. She couldn’t even make herself remove herself from the bloody pieces of glass that lay about the alley, much less than move her entire body. Such a feat would have taken some serious willpower, or some extreme self-coaxing. She felt like she should hug him or say something, but she didn’t know what to do without making him want to hit her or do something wrong to provoke him.

Roseus always took suicide and self-injury seriously. She always acknowledged its existence and understood that it meant that a person was down at the last end of their rope. But for some reason, it always seemed to confuse her. She didn’t know how much pain one would have to go through to get to the point of holding a knife to your wrist in a filled bathtub or to have a rope around your neck. And she didn’t even want to know; being in that much emotional pain was something she couldn’t empathize with, which always frustrated her, but she was glad she could at least sympathize.

She understood that these people that were in the position felt unbearable emotions that they couldn’t bear to live with anymore. But what she didn’t understand is why they didn’t try and seek help. A good chunk of the people who had tried to kill themselves never alerted someone of the problem. Even if they were ashamed of what they felt, they should at least let someone know how they felt so that they would have someone watching them to make sure they don’t do anything to themselves. There are always people available to listen; they don’t have to do that to themselves. It hurts, so why don’t they let someone stitch them up?

What she also didn’t understand is why they would think that is the only way out. Even though it may sound like it at the time, there is always something that can help someone jump over the live wires and get to safe ground. Some might find such relief in a pen and pencil, which might be some light lines decorated over a blank sheet or some loops and calligraphy scrawled on notebook paper. Some might find relief in reading, which will take the person into another place that isn’t where they are at that present moment. Everybody has a way to stitch their wounds; they just have to find it. People can always find ways to stitch their wounds, or at least stop the bleeding for a time.

“You mentioned that you were being teased…” Roseus paused, tearing her eyes away from the bloody glass that lay on the ground, an almost-murderer. Running her hands on the top of her thighs, trying to find the right words to say, she decided on the correct wording for it. “You almost had enough courage to dig that thing into your arm… to see the artery split in two, to see yourself bleed to death… But you don’t have enough courage to stand up for yourself? If you are being teased to the point of killing yourself, you need to tell somebody. Even if it sounds stupid, something that is making you hurt yourself is work telling somebody.” As Roseus looked at his pained face, with outlaw eyes that had seen more hurt and pain than she probably had ever felt in her whole body, she couldn’t help but think about what was oh so wrong with him that people had to tease him. There isn’t anything wrong with him… he doesn’t look different… or seem to act different… he looks normal. There’s nothing to tease him about…

[Rosetta]

Helpless.

That’s how I felt. Helpless. And it’s a horrible feeling. Ever felt helpless? Well, I can tell you it’s not too great. Imagine being stuck in a hole. I know, a hole, but bear with me. Now, let’s say this hole is so deep, it’s ten feet above your head standing up. And it’s raining. And the sides, they’re muddy and it’s impossible to climb back up, because you keep sliding down as soon as you catch a grip in the sides. So, it’s just fruitless. You can’t get back up. You’re stuck down there.

You’re helpless.

It’s different from hopeless. Hopeless would be if no one can hear your screams, if no one will ever come for you. That’s when you have nothing to do, nowhere to go. Trapped forever. Helpless is when, sure, someone may come for you, but you can’t help yourself. You’re stuck.

I was stuck.

I was helpless.

And she didn’t understand. This stupid girl, she didn’t understand. I was helpless. And to be quite honest, if I want someone to help me out of this hole, I didn’t want it to be her. Gosh, wasn’t she annoying? I left in the middle of the night for a reason. So, annoying people like her wouldn’t come and bother me. Why can’t she just go away? I mean, really? Don’t you hate when you’re doing something and someone comes and disrupts you? It’s the worst feeling ever, because you momentarily forget what you’re doing, where you are.

The moon reflected off the glass on the ground, shimmering and silver. The moon and stars rained faint light down upon us in this alley. Yet, I could hardly make out the girl from my spot on the ground. Suddenly, before her, the stars being witness, I felt embarrassed. For the way I acted before, I guess. I could feel the heat on my face. I couldn’t believe I showed her how helpless I was. It was just…humiliating.

“You mentioned that you were being teased…”

I nearly groaned aloud. Now, she was prying? Just go away, I pleaded in my head, glaring at her. Yes, yes, I admitted it. Well, teased is a bit of an understatement. Having the crap beat out of you isn’t being teased. No, that’s bullying.

In my eighth year of schooling, they brought us all in the auditorium for an assembly on bullying. They told us how it wasn’t right. How it hurt others. How it wasn’t nice and whatnot. At the time, I thought it was a stupid assembly. My friends and I, we laughed and joked around. We kicked the seats of the kids in front of us, and we left having learned nothing.

I guess, now I’ve learned or whatever. Yeah, yeah, it does hurt. It hurts like hell. I mean, my face was throbbing from the beating, my limbs sore, my back aching. But, somewhere deep down, I was being stabbed. There was a piece of metal in my heart and no matter which way I move, it’s just going to go in deeper and deeper.

It’s terrible when it’s your friends doing it to you. And it’s even worse when they’re doing it for something you can’t control. I mean, I can’t control the way I was born. It’s like how we, the guys, we used to make fun of the kid who had the peg-leg, calling him Peggy, because he was born without a leg. It’s not his fault. I was born gay. I can’t control my sexuality. It’s like how Jem or “Peggy” can’t just grow a leg. I can’t just wake up and say I’m straight. It doesn’t work that way. But, they don’t understand. And it just hurt, you know? They hate me for what I can’t control.

Then, killing myself is the only way, isn’t it?

Amid all my thinking, the girl continued to talk. Tell someone, she’s telling me know. I have to tell someone. Oh, brother, what an idiot. My blood was boiling by this point. Tell someone? How could I tell someone? My family already knew. I kept it a secret for so long. They all already know. Where has she been? Under a rock? Please, there was no one to tell. Everyone already knew that-

“I’m gay, okay?” I blurted before I could stop myself. And once I had begun, I couldn’t stop. I found my heart racing, my mouth spitting out words at her. “I’m gay and everyone knows. I don’t know where the hell you’ve been, but a lot of people now. And now all my friends hate me, my family hates me, and you’re probably lying, you hate me too!” I could feel the tears on my face, the heat in my stomach, rising up into my throat and out my mouth in the form of burning words, “Well, you know what? I hate everyone too. I just hate everyone, okay?! I’ve had to keep it a secret for so long! And because, because, I knew that if I told something bad would happen and what do you know?” I splayed my hands around me, eyes wide, staring accusingly at her. “I was right! Now, you can just leave now. Leave me in peace. I don’t want to look at you anymore!”

I didn’t want to look at anyone. Not at her. Not at the stars, not at the moon. Not at my own pale wrist. Not at my parents’ faces, not a James’s. Not at the boys at school. Not at my former friends. All I wanted to look at was the insides of my eyelids.

And whatever came after that.

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[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Be kind to unkind people - they need it the most."
Roseus Wilter

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As soon as the words left his trembling lips, she realized why he would want to do such a thing to himself. She found out the thing that everybody thought was a flaw. She found out the thing that made everybody hate him so. “I’m gay, okay? I’m gay and everyone knows.”

[/I] This boy, the boy that sat on the ground in front of her was gay. As soon as his full explanation was given to her, the full explanation of his pains and troubles and depression, she felt small tears well up in her eyes. People like that don’t deserve to live. They only bring others misery. [/I]

The thing she couldn’t understand was why someone would tease another person for being who they really are. It isn’t a choice, it’s not an option. Someone can’t just wake up one day and say that they are gay, and the same goes for gay people, they can’t wake up and say they are straight. It’s just something that you are. So, why is it that everybody feels that they have to pick on someone, and even drive themselves to the point of self-induced death just because they are different? It wasn’t just gay and bi people, but it was people with different skin. It was people with disabilities. It was everybody who differed from those people that were picked on. Why can’t everybody just not give a shit about the differences of others? Is that so hard? Why do they feel it necessary to do that to other human beings?

And even teasing them, and picking on them, and trashing them to the point of their death was just intolerable. Doing such a thing, what with the name calling and physical abuse and causing them to take their own life was called murder. By doing that, they were murdering. Of course, they weren’t the type of murderers that would creep into your house during the Cimmerian night and do the deed, but their cruel words and punches might as well serve as that person’s personal death sentence. They weren’t the actual murderers that held the knife, but they were still technically indirect murderers. But indirect or direct, their words and the beatings that caused bruises she could barely see were killing him softly. They were killing him, even though he was killing himself.

With wandering blue eyes, she could only watch and observe as tears poured out of his pained, outlaw eyes, dripping down his face silently as they began to hit the floor and whatever clothing they could find. Such a pretty little broken thing, he just deserves to be patched up, but I’m afraid I’ll run out of thread. She wanted to hug him and tell him that she would tell him, but she was afraid to out of fear that he would hurt her or something along the lines. She felt selfish thinking so, but for god’s sake, he had glass next to him, and she had already made him pissed as it was. She didn’t exactly want to go home and have to explain to her parents that a suicidal boy in an alley cut the hell out of her. They would probably lock her in the house and never let her go out and run errands or even walk to work. I’ll just have to be careful with what I say. I just want to know he won’t try anything. If I step away now, that would be the equivalent to murder. [/I]

“Well I don’t want to look at you cutting yourself open!” Roseus felt like an ass for saying it so harshly, but she meant it. Shaking her head at herself slightly and looking down the dark alley, where dangers could await for a second, she tried to gather something to say. What could she say? That everyone will forgive him for being gay? She knows that it won’t happen, as kids are stubborn and horrible and never let things go. Something that could have happened three years ago would still plague a kid to that very day. But then, as her eyes scanned the darkness on their right, she knew exactly what she wanted to say; something she kind of beat herself up for not coming up with it earlier.

“What about the future? What if you kill yourself and miss the chance to have the most amazing guy ever? What if you kill yourself and miss everything you could have had; adopted kids, being able to walk up the stairs into your home and know he’s there? Can’t you live and know that one day it will get better? Can’t you just live for the future?” Roseus realized at the end that she was pleading with him to live, but she meant the words that came flooding out of her mouth. If she was attracted to girls and was bullied as bad as he was, she knew for a fact that she would only think that one day she would meet an amazing girl and that it would get better. To her, suffering to have love would be worth all the while, but to him at the time, he probably didn’t know that there was such a thing called ‘getting better’. [/size] [/blockquote] [/justify]

[Rosetta]

It’s easier to hate someone who hates you back than to love someone who hates you. Take the boys from football, for example. They now all hated me, hated me for something that I was born with, my sexuality. And what about James? My mother certainly didn’t hate me nor does, probably, James’ father, but James was different. James was being directly affected by my actions. The secret I told. They all hated me now. And I hated them back, just as fiercely. Hated the boys who I used to play football with because they hated me for my sexuality and had taken it upon themselves for beating me up. Hated James because we’d done things and now he acted like he never wanted those things to happen. I hated him because he was just like me. He didn’t accept himself. So, I guess, in the end, you could say I hated myself.

And so, there was really no compromise. I couldn’t love these people who hated me. And just ignoring them and living with them was the same thing to me. And I couldn’t love myself. I couldn’t accept myself knowing it would just bring hatred upon myself. I hated myself, not for being born this way, but for being so stupid as to think people would accept me. I hated the world. Hate, hate, hate. There was too much of it. Here I was, praying this hate upon me would dissipate, but I was only fueling the fire by hating the others too. It was just an endless loop of hate and it hurt my head to think about it too much.

There was no living for the future. What future? We were all just trapped in this District. Pigs in a pen. Waiting for slaughter. Stupid girl, thinking there was some future. Stupid Aaden, thinking that he would be accepted. Thinking he could tell his secret. Thinking not of the consequences.

Stupid me. Stupid me. Stupid me.

It was easier to hate yourself to accept yourself. Especially if it seemed the rest of the world didn’t accept you. In the moonlight, before this girl’s eyes, I felt naked. She could see my hatred of myself, painted all over the glass I’d previously held. She could sense my weakness, scrawled upon my watery eyes, my mumbled words. I was helpless.

Stupid me.

She’d cut me open, cutting far deeper than the glass could, examined my insides, saw me for what I really was and I didn’t even know her name.

Then again, now that I think about it, her seeing my insides probably wasn’t her fault. I ripped my own self apart and she was only a spectator. But, that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t know her name. Amid my despair, I squinted through the darkness at her. “Who are you anyway? Why did you come here?”

Hell, who knew? Maybe she was some obnoxious, little guardian angel. Sent down to aid me, despite my shoves. Despite my harsh words at her. The thought made my anger evaporate slightly. Perhaps she was some annoying angel. A guardian to me. A source of help. Some guidance. I wouldn’t be surprised.

Maybe it was about time I got some help. Some guidance.

Maybe her being a guardian angel wouldn’t be half-bad.

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[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

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She had always believed that the nasty, horrible people in the world just needed to be ignored, and eventually, they would just simmer down and blend in and learn to shut themselves up. Roseus had always tried her best to follow that as closely as possible, ignoring the crowd that always felt the need to bag on other people for differences, whether it be personality differences or appearance differences or whatever. But even though she always tried to just shrug off those people, there were just some circumstances that couldn’t be left alone. Take a kid that had to take special education. There are always kids that will bruise him for being who he was, and you just couldn’t ignore something like that.

After the first moment her blue eyes had laid upon him and saw the bruises that decorated his body like some kind of cruel ornamentation, it wasn’t all that hard to tell that he had been beaten up by someone. The matter of who, which she later figured out was the people at his school, wasn’t all that huge of a surprise to her. People made fun of others for differences, which seemed to be what half of the people in the world believed in. And his difference was his sexuality. It sickened her to know that there were people that would hate other people for little things such as that.

“Who are you anyway? Why did you come here?”

“Uh, well, I work at a factory like, a couple miles away, and I had to pick up a package for my boss before I forgot. And uh, my name is uh, Roseus. Wilter. Roseus Wilter.” She nodded in a “yeah, so that’s about it” fashion as she looked behind her out of the alley and past the boy and in the alley, thinking about why she actually came into his presence in the first place. Why she had dropped everything (literally, her bag was in front of the post-office) to go and talked to a boy who rejected her, and she just pushed that down with annoying persistence. Probably because she knew that if she just let him cut himself open and watch each vein empty themselves of blood, she wouldn’t exactly be doing the right thing and that was just how she was always raised, to be a goody-two shoes and be nice to all the people, even the bitchy types. As she had noted earlier, she would be just as good as the people that inflicted the bruises on his body.

{ooc; no muse, sorry D: }

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