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I'm not sure how much longer I will stay, this worthless fucking life is just getting worse. So you aren't completely lost on how I have come to this stage, I will explain my life. When I was nine, I was left home alone for the first time in my life. I had pleaded and pleaded to be able to stay home. I whined, "I'm old enough to take care of myself for a little!" My parents took a lot of convincing, but they decided it would be fine, after all, they were just making a run to the grocery store.

They went over the procedures for emergency situations, like normal parents. I replied will all the right answers, so they let me stay. But I'll tell you this, just because you know what to do doesn't mean you can actually do it.

Back to the story. Like any child, I immediately went to the living room and got on the computer. I was browsing through some gaming forums, I was so interested in games, but we were too poor to afford any video games. I had a few free games, but my computer was so weak, I couldn't even smoothly run Tetris. I read up on the upcoming PlayStation 3. I was so excited. I thought about my savings, maybe if I could muster up another fifty dollars I could afford the new PlayStation. I had been saving since the PlayStation 2 came out. I only played it once, at a friends house, and I decided if it was that fun, then the new one would be even better. I decided to do work for other people, but because I was seven when I started, not many wanted my services. After a lot of rejections, I would kick a can and, feeling rebellious, would curse under my breath.

I tried not to get my self too excited, so I shut off the monitor and turned off the computer. I went upstairs to my parent’s room, wanting to forget about my excitement by escaping into my parent's television. I turned it low, remembering we didn't have a security system. That being said, if the television was too loud, I couldn't hear if someone had broken in.

After a while I decided the show was too quiet, so I turned it up. I didn't pay attention to the volume level, and didn't care.

A while later, I thought I heard a crashing noise. I quickly grasped my dad's eight inch hunting knife and grabbed his loaded P37. I had just recently learned to shoot and each time the gun went off, it knocked me on my butt. I decided it would be a last resort, so I safely tucked it in the back pocket of my jeans. I reached for the door handle to exit the bedroom. Before my hand reached it, it swung inwards. A man wearing a terrifying black mask, which still haunts me to this day, was standing there. The man's mask had no facial features except dark pits for eyes. The whole mask was wrinkled and one wrinkle in particular looked like a mouth. He wasted no time snatching my wrist, and twisting it until my hand was forced open from the pain. The knife fell and stuck into the carpeted floor. He then awkwardly stepped forward and hugged me. I was in shock and didn't know what to do. When he released me I realized he had disarmed me. He held the gun to my head with one hand and said in an almost inaudible, and slightly sad tone, "Let me hear you scream." I think it was just me, but I thought the mask formed a slight grin, but when I blinked it was perfectly normal. I heard a zipping sound, realizing he had his other hand near his cock. He came close, I stepped back until I was back against the bed. In one swift motion, he swept the gun's barrel across my face, and kicked the back of my knee. I spun and fell at the same time. My chin hit the bed and my nose started trickling blood.

I felt his hand's wrap around me, lifting me and pushing me forward so my whole torso rested on the bed, legs dangling off. He reached down with one hand and before I knew what happened, my pants were on the floor. I felt something cold against my buttocks. I screamed and screamed. It hurt so much. After he had his pleasure, he told me to put my pants back on. I did so and turned around. "Was it fun?" He asked this while cocking his head to the right. There it was, that stupid grin on the mask. I couldn't have been imagining. He aimed the gun again, "Come" The voice talked so quietly, it was almost saddening. "Where does your mommy keep the green paper?" He was trying to trick me! I can't believe how little he thought of me. "What money," I replied with a snarl. "Don't play dumb kid!" His voice was louder, but still soft. I was partly telling the truth, considering how poor we were. We lived in a two story house with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. He raised his hand and brought it down. The back of his hand hit me in the cheek. I was already bleeding through my nose from the gun, but now it was gushing blood. "Worthless bitch," he whispered under his breath. The man took my arm and shoved it behind my back. He took me downstairs on the wood floor and, standing in the living room, turned over all of our valuables.They were little things like pictures, but they meant so much. After about thirty minutes of this, he noticed the computer, sitting in the corner. "This is your last chance." The man wagged a finger, pulled out the knife, and cautiously crept towards my computer. "No!" I screamed the word so loud, my ears rang. He repeated the simple two word phrase. "The money." He was obviously getting tired of this. "W-we don't have any. Mother and Father took it all to go buy groceries."

"Is that so?"

"Yes! Please don't touch the computer."

He seemed pleased that I was so attached to the computer. "Well, I guess I see how you feel" The grin on the mask spread wider. The man twirled the knife through his fingers and started to walk away. In an instant, he had turned and, holding the tip of the blade, extended his arm, flicked his wrist, and released. It hit straight where the power would be. A few sparks later, he walked upstairs. When he noticed I didn't follow, he turned and held the .357's barrel in his right hand. He brought the handle down on my forehead.

I woke to find my parents crying. I was lying in a hospital bed. I realized there were stitches in my head, and when my parents saw my eyes open, they cried harder. A few minutes passed and I was more aware. I told them what happened. Their eyes watered again.

Once they dried their eyes, they told me they had gotten a huge bank loan and we would be moving into a small house. "We don't want you to be returned to the carnage." I said that I didn't want to return.

I was released from the hospital after my first few days. We moved into an old fashion, one story house. We started out with an empty home. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. The first few weeks we slept on the floor. I slept in the same room as them. I wasn't ready to be alone again. After a few weeks, we slowly got another computer, one even worse than the previous, beds, and some kitchen tools.

My dad started to abuse me. He sometimes left bruises and when I was asked about them, I would say stupid excuses like I fell.

Four years went by like this. One time in a fight, my dad was strangling me. I fired a punch into the side of his head, below his ear. The punch hit a pressure point and knocked him out. I was so tired of it that kicked in his face. His broken nose cut off his breathing for the most part. He died two nights later in his sleep, from suffocation.

I went to school because the government payed for it. I always sat in the corner. My naturally dark black hair grew. The people at the high school called me emo and spit at me sometimes. I wasn't well liked. I skipped class quite a bit and sat in the bathroom crying. Some time went by, and three weeks before my sixteenth birthday, I bumped into another kid. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, looking at the ground. He had just about the same hair as me. I accidentally bumped into him and he fell. I bent down to help him up, but he pushed my hand away. "Don't bother. I know what everyone thinks of me." His hair had fallen away from his face, and I saw his cheeks were wet and his eyes were red. He had been crying.

He stretched his arms against the floor to get up. I saw why he put his hands in his pockets. From his wrist up to the middle section of his forearm were scars and actively bleeding cuts. "Shit, what happened to your arm?" He looked up slowly and shook his head, as though I was playing dumb. He wore a bit of black eye shadow, a shirt where the background was black and in the middle had a complicated design. Under it read "If I die now." He had tight black jeans with a few holes in them. He a couple thin bracelets on each arm, and high topped shoes. He was what some called scene and emo. I met him in the bathroom later and he gave me a note and money. It read:

I see you being picked on, usually crying. Make them realize what they're doing. Buy a razor blade and replicate my arms. Then buy some clothes similar to the few you saw me wearing.

-Vic

I sneaked out of school early and did as I was told. When I got home, my mom almost jumped out of her skin. "What do you think you're doing, dressed like that?" I walked past, shouldering her. I locked my door, thinking about the people at school. I cried and realized the pain they brought me. I put the blade against my wrist and dragged it across.

I got dressed and went to school the next morning. A lot of people stared and started doing more spitting and this time shoving me into lockers. A note in my locker read:

Good boy. Meet me in the bathroom during third period.

-Vic

During third period I asked for a pass to the bathroom. My science teacher sighed and handed me one. In the bathroom I found Vic. He stood there, waiting. He was leaned up against the wall. As he caught my gaze, he stood up and reached for my wrists. When he saw them he smiled. "Didn't it feel good." I admitted it did satisfy. "Tell me what the hell happened to you."

I spilled everything and in return I got Vic's experiences. "I always lived poor too. I didn't even have a computer. Hell, I couldn't even afford to spend money on candy. My dad blew most of our money after work, drinking his ass off. He usually returned home drunk, and woke me from my sleep. He would try to beat me up, but I fought back. Eventually I got into drugs. I still do them too, but mainly just weed. One night he had a knife and killed my mother in her sleep. I called him a bastard and fled for my soccer trophy I used to protect and feel so proud of. I took it and used it to stab him in the gut. I thrust it so far, you could see the tip out the other side. The police never showed."

He turned his head and looked sad. "Are you okay?" As soon as I spoke he jumped, like he didn't know I was there, and shot his head in my direction. "I have four more friends. They want to meet you too. They'll arrive here in a few minutes. Once they're here, we'll sneak out different doors and meet in the woods behind the school."

A few minutes passed until they showed. We all stood in the boys' bathroom. There were two girls and two guys. They introduced themselves individually. They all looked almost identical. First a man stepped up. "I am Chris."

The next stepped up. The only difference was this one was a girl. She looked identical as well but with longer hair, darker eye shadow, and boots. Everything was black. Shyly she nodded and said, "Paige." The next a guy. "You don't need to know my name, just call me Heartless." His shirt consisted of a bleeding heart. The next girl, a little more confident, introduced herself with, "I'm Saphire. People always think I am the fire to bring everyone down." Her hair was a bright pink at the tips and gradually grew to a darker red towards the roots.

All of them acted in a particular way. Maybe it was their stories. Chris started his story when he was sixteen. Apparently he had skipped so many classes that they held him back. Chris was nineteen in high school. "My father had already died and my mom took care of me in a one story house. We had a very bad computer and a few weeks before my sixteenth I started dressing like this." He showed off his shoes, black skinnies, a black shirt with red splattered in such a way, it looked like someone had been shot. He also wore a chain going from his pocket to a nearby belt loop."My mom flipped. After a while I got sick of her. This was when I was about seventeen. She was always grumpy and never let me do much. One night, while she was sleeping, I slit her throat. I used my dad's old eight inch hunting knife. It felt so good when the blade slid across her throat. We were already being funded by the government, so money wasn't a problem. The house turned into a mess pretty soon. I was, and still am, going crazy. After that night of sweet death, I fucking started seeing shit. Stuff like, the mask the person wore who raped me when I was younger. I'm thinking about leaving soon."

Everyone got quiet. We knew what he meant by leave. Next Heartless shared his story. He just told us how he felt."Everyone treats me with fucking disrespect and it pisses me off! Fucking cunts will learn one goddamn day." Heartless matched his personality. No love interest, talking how he would make everyone pay. Jeez, he was fucked up.

Paige spoke next in a very shy and quiet voice. "When I was nine, my parents left me at home. A man broke in wearing a black mask. He raped me and then destroyed everything. I woke up in a hospital, where my parents were crying. We moved before I was released from the hospital."

Saphire was getting kind of nervous. She obviously wasn't comfortable with her story. "I dated a man for close to two and a half years. He then told me I was so annoying, he hated me, and pulled a gun out. I thought he was going to shoot me, but apparently he was crazy and shot himself." She wouldn't go on and no one pushed her. She broke down in tears. Everyone calmed her down. Vic spoke again, "That's the crew. What time is it? Shit! Passing period is soon. Everyone you know the drill."

We all succeeded in meeting in the woods behind the school. We walked through the woods and met at my house. I opened the door and walked in. I signaled for everyone to follow. We went into my room and silently locked it.

Hours later my mom heard me talking. She walked over and pounded on the door. "Who are you talking to?" I unlocked my door. I smiled and turned, showing everyone off with my hand "These are my new friends. There is Chris," I pointed at each one as I said their names, "Vic, Saphire, Paige, and Heartless." I turned and my mom had the weirdest expression on her face. "Are you okay?" She sounded confused. I nodded and she turned around and went back to her room.

This became routine, almost like a ritual. My mom eventually caught us. She yelled at me to go to school and stop acting like I have friends. She was pissing me off. She caught us almost every day. A little before I was seventeen, I took my dad's hunting knife and slit her throat. It felt great. I wanted to do more.

When they started wondering where she went I told them that she got tired of listening to me so she moved out. In reality, I pried up the wood floor in her room and buried her there. I replaced it and moved her bed on top of her grave. I wasn't offering a further explanation. On my eighteenth birthday, we just plain skipped school. I told them to wait there while I went to the bathroom. When I opened the bathroom door, I looked in the mirror. Standing in the doorway was the black masked figure that raped me. I spun around and raised my fists. Nothing. Nothing was there. I peed in the toilet and ran out of there. The whole day, I kept it to myself.

I started dating a guy after my sixteenth birthday, but like Saphire, he shot himself. I was so depressed. I showed less frequently at school, and when I did, people shoved me down calling me gay.

During my depression, I saw it more frequently. I saw it in almost every room. I started slitting my wrists again, not even realizing I quit. The thing drove me mad. I smeared my blood on the wall. Drew satanic symbols in all the rooms. It felt right, but yet so creepy. Each time I did I felt satisfied, but I felt like puking. Whenever I saw it I slashed my wrist and drew something crazy. It wouldn't stop. When the crew was over, they didn't even bother to question the bloody symbols on the walls. I saw the thing even while I was simply chatting with them.

Every time I saw it, it seemed it had a wider grin. What the fuck it is, I don't have the slightest clue.

Jumping to the present, I can see it now. I've lost so much blood, I can barely stand, the walls are almost completely painted with my crimson red blood. It's driving me mad.

Back about a week ago, I found the truth. My friends weren't real at all. I found out when Vic called himself the mind on accident. "What's that suppose to mean?" I almost snarled at him. Their clothes never changed, nothing changed of them. Ever. He confessed that in reality, he is my conscious. He wasn't real. Blood started trickling from his wrist. It increased severely. Eventually, his blood loss turned him into a kid so skinny, you could see his bones. I started crying. "Vic! Vic! No! Don't fucking go! You're one of my only friends! Vic!" He sat in a pool of blood. I cried so hard. "I, if you didn't notice am your future. And this is where it ends for me. Goodbye." Chris hardly whispered the last word. He slipped a .357 out of his pocket and opened his mouth. Chris pulled the hammer back. I watched as his head almost exploded from the gunshot. He had tears streaming down his face. He too, laid in a pool of his own brains and blood. "Chris!"

"I was you in the relationship of your boyfriend." Saphire reached over to the hunting knife, drew her hands up and smiled. "Bye." She brought blade down, puncturing through her stomach. She coughed up blood and eventually died. Lying in her guts, she seemed happy to have met me. As always, Paige shyly admitted to being my past. "The mask haunts me too, don't worry." Her faint smile faded and she took the .357 and repeatedly smashed it against her skull until she lost so much blood that she died. I barely whispered their names now. I held on to their existence though.

I stared at Heartless. "I didn't speak much with my deep stage of depression, but I know that I loved you." The smile he had widened but then shrunk. "Don't Heartless. Not you too. Please." Before I finished the word please, he had already brought up my chair from the corner and the rope from my bed. He threw it over the beam supporting the roof. Heartless kicked the stool and and I watched as he choked himself out. I couldn't bear it. I took their blood on the walls. I wanted them back. I wanted them back so bad. Why did they have to go? After that night their bodies and blood disappeared.

Now I was sure, reviewing my past, that I too was leaving. I said goodbye to myself. I shut off the monitor and saw the thing in the reflection. I punched through the screen and grabbed a piece of glass from the shattered monitor screen. I just couldn't handle it. To see the... The thing... again. I mouthed goodbye to myself and stabbed the long piece through the soft tissue between my neck and chin and punctured my brain, and killed myself instantly.

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