All he felt was cold. It was mind-numbing. It was blanketing. It was
release.

Before, there were other emotions, too. The depression covered them, like an umbrella, but they were still there. But now, lying on the hard tile, all he felt was that calming cold, the
release.

He was in high school. He knew there were several ways to accomplish his goal. Some of the students even joked about it, even went as far as to make fun of the kids who were close enough to the edge to do it.

Having a small background with it, he’d chosen a razor blade.

Oh, yes, a small background he had. He’d tried to keep it a secret, but when you’re showering after gym class you’re fairly exposed. Of course other students had noticed.

Now, lying on his back, he didn’t care about any of that. In fact, he was too weak to even stand, let alone care about something that had happened months ago. All he wanted was his
release.

Eyes fixed on the fresh crimson smears above him, he began to worry. His
release
was now becoming a
prison.

The cold blanket was coming off. Now, instead, he felt searing pain racing through his veins, as if the old emotions were charging at his heart.
(Despair.
Loneliness.
Depression.)

Each shattered a hole in the
release
he thought he had found. Instead of lying calmly he was now withering in pain with the little strength he had left. His back even managed to arch, but then slipped in the growing pool.

It didn’t matter. Only a little time left before his
release
(prison)
was complete.

Black spots covered the stained door he had been so intently looking at.

He had won. No more
rejection.
No more
failure.
No more
pain.
Only sweet, sweet,
release.


Blackness.