He didn't know if she was real or not; if she was just a figment of his own imagination or if she was actually real. He hoped she was real- it would be kind of silly to grow attached to something that wasn't even there.
He wasn't crazy. Nope, not at all. He was perfectly sane, thank you very much. The only reason he was locked away in his bathroom at three in the morning was because he had too much coffee to drink. He wished he never drank it, though. He must have bought a expired package or something.
Can coffee expire?
He hated when he drank or ate expired things. He would always have to deal with them. The little whispers of people from inside the walls. He didn't know why they decided to live in his wall, but he couldn't kick them out. The little whispers had friends- the little voices. They would say things that weren't true-
lies. they are true.
-And make him believe them. He didn't want to believe them at all. He also didn't want to make the voices angry, because they too had friends- headaches. The headaches were caused when the voices got loud. Oh, and they could get loud. He didn't dare take anything that would get rid of them, either. It seemed that everyone (but him) had a friend.
The screams had friends that he could see. Things that would stare at him, glare at him, laugh at him. He didn't want to see them or hear they're laughter. It always made his heart hurt and his wrist tingle. Like an itch that you can't scratch with your fingers- you needed a blade.
You're weak, thats why you can't scratch it.
No, no; that wasn't true. He wasn't weak, he just didn't drink his milk or eat his vegetables like everyone else did when he was a boy. (Liar, Liar pants on fire). He didn't like milk or vegetables. (Hanging from a telephone wire). That's why he was scrawny, honest.
He wanted to tune them out, but they always got in no matter how hard he pressed his palms against his ears. They would never shut up. They were always talking. To each other, to him- they would never shut up. He told them he had school the next morning over and over again. They didn't care. They would just pretend to ignore him. He hated that.
Everyone ignored him.
No one took the time to listen to him.
God, he was so tired. He just wanted it to end!
Sometimes, he wondered why he didn't just do it.
Do it, do it, do it. No one likes you. You would be doing the World a favor.
He had everything he needed. He had rope, he had a knife, he had pills. So why didn't he do it?
'Cause your weak.
He wasn't weak, he really wasn't.
He picked up the blade, the shining little piece of metal, and pressed it against the thin skin of his wrist.
Come on, do it! Do it! Do it!
He wasn't weak. He just didn't want to live anymore.