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Live, Love, Lose - 30. Chapter 30

Beware, implicit mention of self-harm... :(

Death, death, death.

That’s all he could think of. It was everywhere. In the outside world and in his head. So many people dying everywhere, every day, most of them because of natural causes, and many others without having asked for anything, powerless and begging to live for a bit longer. Some died painlessly falling into an endless sleep while others died in atrocious pain, such was the cycle of life.

It was absolutely horrendous when you thought about it. How life is actually meaningless.

You come into the world without even asking for anything, you are raised and taught to have an education, then if you’re lucky enough you go to college to have an even more prestigious education, once you get a job you do the same thing for the rest of your life, and again if you have the chance to get old enough you retire, but then what? You wait for death to come and take you, that’s all.

You eat, you drink, you sleep, you wake up, you shag, you laugh, you cry, you die.

Just trivial things to end up under the dirt, devoured by disgusting bugs. And no one will remember you in the end when everybody’s dead, nobody will remember anybody. It's just as if all the memories, all the moments you lived, words, and actions had never existed, never happened. Unless you become quite famous so newer generations of strangers won't forget you. That’s just how it is.

These thoughts had been obsessing him for a while, but this wasn’t the worst part.

Death.

Blood.

Pain.

He always saw them whenever he closed his eyes. Always the same images of the same dream. So he had stopped to close his eyes; but even when his eyes were opened, the pain was just more intense every day, and he saw the blood on his hands, on his clothes.

This was a real living nightmare.

He could hear voices too. His voice. Talking to him whenever he expected it the least. And he just wanted it to stop. It just made the pain even worse. He became afraid of it, of what it would say, its judgment.

He would reply to it out loud, either begin it to shut up or getting angry at it. There was never a happy reaction on his part.

He couldn’t help thinking it was all his fault. He hadn’t been there to save him. He was supposed to become a doctor, and he hadn’t even been there for the one who had needed him the most.

He had let him die.

Of course, he should have held him back!!!

What an idiot, what an idiot, what an idiot, what an idiot, what an idiot, what an idiot, what an idiot!!! A bloody idiot he was!!!

He should have known he couldn’t trust the government, those bloody bastards, sending innocent men to give their lives for what? He didn’t even know. And they were still alive! They hadn’t fought!!!

It’s easy to give orders and manipulate your own people like puppets when you know you don’t risk anything. It’s just utterly disgusting.

How could they possibly look at themselves in a mirror?

If there were people he could kill, they would be his first choice.

But he was just a powerless idiot.

He couldn’t be a savior, rescuer, he couldn’t be a merciless killer, he couldn’t be normal, then what could he be?

A worthless idiot.

Great.

There couldn’t be anything more humiliating. Oh yes, there was one thing actually. One thing he wished he could forget, but whenever he thought he could it always went back to slap him hard in the face, to mock him, and it would spit at his face too if it could.

He really, really, really wished he could stop thinking too. But it was simply impossible. His mind just enjoyed torturing him too much. Nothing could work against it.

He had been sitting on the floor near the bed for ages, it seemed, now. He just didn’t have the strength or will to stand up any longer. He glanced at the window. The sky was darkening, meaning the night would come soon.

He could feel his whole body shiver, it just wouldn’t stop. His hands were icy cold. His veins didn’t stand out. They were hardly visible, but the bones under the skin were quite visible. His fingernails were dirty, long, and ugly. It looked like he hadn’t trimmed them in ages.

He could feel his eye twitch suddenly. Something he had got used to by that time.

Now’s the right time, he thought.

If he didn’t do it now, he would end up in an asylum. Or worse.

He let out a groan as he struggled to stand up. There was no one to disturb him, but he still had to be quick.

He made his way to the bathroom with slow steps as he was looking completely lethargic, looking like a dead among the living.

He stared at himself into the mirror, and what he saw wasn’t pretty to see. This reflection of himself couldn’t have been truer and more genuine than it was. He looked totally empty, broken. His face was ravaged by the lack of sleep and self-care, twisted by his inner torments, worries, and pain; it was absolutely terrifying to look at.

Yet, he didn’t look away; neither did he move. He didn’t care at all about his physical appearance; it absolutely didn’t matter.

Just honestly; who would want him? Who could love him like he loved him?

What could he have seen in him anyway?

He was just left bitter by the ordeals that life had put him through. He didn’t have his positivity, carelessness, free spirit. He was nothing like him. He had thought he could be strong. Strong and independent. But he’s never been.

Death wasn’t actually a bad thing. It would free him from all the pain, all his demons. And one less human being in the realm of the living, what could it possibly change?

It’s not as if his death was going to have a major impact on the world, cause chaos, or anything.

A meaningless death for a meaningless life.

The lack of sleep, the endless remorse. The excruciating pain. This was all too much. He was tired of trying so hard to live normally.

No one could do anything for him. It was too late, much too late. He was too far gone already. He just couldn’t take it any longer. He just wanted it to end. Nothing else mattered.

He took the razor and stared at it with crying and aching eyes.

There was no point in living this awful and miserable life without him.

Oh my God, I'm already publishing the thirtieth chapter for this story, I can't believe it!

My poor heart really can't take it 💔

Copyright © 2021 LittleCherryBlossom26; All Rights Reserved.
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Wow, he needs psychological help.  I’m thinking an asylum might not be a bad place for him, at least for a while.

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Will someone ,hopefully, find him eiither before he cuts himself or shortly after he cuts himself--or will he be found dead in a pool of his own blood ?

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Now would be a good time for Karl to appear.  Even if George would not even see him if he did come into the room.  Karl is going to suddenly become educated into the real life of others than just those of his family who are back at his home. 

George needs some intervention now to prevent something more from  taking place.

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Oh my goodness, the darkness is closing in and too close; so much so that my throat constricts and my eyes water just thinking about this.  I ready do miss the other characters but readily admit the focus being on George to this point helps with feeling the sense of isolation and darkness that is enveloping George on what I hope is the cusp of rescue from himself; his own mind.

@LittleCherryBlossom26, please don’t leave George, or us hanging on this cliff of the dark abyss.

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"My poor heart really can't take it 💔

Really?  You're the author. The master of all you perceive. Change it if you want, because you can. But don't bemoan what you create.

 

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On 12/2/2021 at 9:38 PM, Anton_Cloche said:

"My poor heart really can't take it 💔

Really?  You're the author. The master of all you perceive. Change it if you want, because you can. But don't bemoan what you create.

 

@Anton_ClocheSorry, I didn't mean for it to be perceived this way. I just like to put myself in my readers' shoes. And as I finished writing it a while ago already, I like to read it like a reader would. I know it sounds a little bit ambiguous, but I'd like to be writer, reader and editor at the same time for my works, although it's complicated for the editing part...

But I don't regret what I wrote, even if it's not nice :)

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16 hours ago, LittleCherryBlossom26 said:

@Anton_ClocheSorry, I didn't mean for it to be perceived this way. I just like to put myself in my readers' shoes. And as I finished writing it a while ago already, I like to read it like a reader would. I know it sounds a little bit ambiguous, but I'd like to be writer, reader and editor at the same time for my works, although it's complicated for the editing part...

But I don't regret what I wrote, even if it's not nice :)

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Might have to try 3rd hat. Generally it's my 'reader' hat the triggers my 'Editor's Eye and Red Pencil 📝' making me change hats. ( not to be confused with changing 🐎 in mid -stream ). 😉

It is a good story. 

 

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On 12/1/2021 at 8:54 AM, Okiegrad said:

Wow, he needs psychological help.  I’m thinking an asylum might not be a bad place for him, at least for a while.

He certainly needs help, tho' not sure a 1940s British asylum would have actually helped!

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I kind of hope George will rescue himself.  I've never been that close to suicide, but I do know that it is unlikely for someone rescue George.  He will gain strength by rescuing himself, and strength is what he needs now and in his future.  

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