/Liquid Crimson/
It was raining. It always rained in the hills. It was always so depressing.
A small smile twisted the boys face, sad, delirious. He was alone in his room, he didn't have to pretend. With everyone else he had to act, but he was alone.
He scanned the black walls of his room with his now dim eyes, the fresh tear tracks still visible. They shone in the lightning, he didn't even flinch as the thunder shook the house.
He looked to his dark floor, to the photo, now in pieces. He still hadn't picked them up. He couldn't just throw them away, the pieces of him, himself.
He quickly looked away, the feelings of inadiquacy, nausea, failure coming back to engulf him. He wasn't good enough, couldn't cut it. He'd lost everything when he'd lost him, no reason to live.
No!
His mind kept screaming at him, 'no'. It wasn't him, his fault. It wasn't what he'd thought, he wasn't who he'd made himself out to be. The other just couldn't see through that, didn't want to see through it. Like everyone else, he let himself be fooled.
The other just didn't want it enough, didn't want him. He was afraid, emotions were scary.
He coughed, a hacking sound, harsh and painful. His hands balled into fists as his mind continued to ache, his heart broken and unsteady. The pieces were so small, but still too sharp, he couldn't put them back together again, not yet.
He looked up to the ceiling, pure white and untouched, a cry cought in his sore throat. His breath came out as little more than a whisper.
"I have dreamed a dream... and now that dream has gone from me..."
A fork of lightning lit up the room. The fresh blood was still flowing unhindered, liquid crimson.
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