In another life, I will not be the weird kid. I will receive the same love that I give out so easily.
I will not be the bullied kid who changed schools, the new guy with the rumors of their problems at home.
In another life, I will receive the same love that I give out so easily.
I will not be the guy sitting alone, pretending not to notice the stares. I will not be judged for what I wear, how I speak, or the sadness hidden behind my smile.
I want a life where I am laughing with my people instead of wondering if I belong beside them at all.
A life in which strangers smile at me more often. One where I do not have to hold back my tears every night.
I get the same urges, the same feelings.
As the world caves in on my heart, as I distance myself further.
I realize that I should have never been born.
This world is too cruel for me.
We see him, his name is Antent.
He was young, and his room was all over the place.
Vials, masks, a multitude of custom-made engineering equipment, alongside scrap metal, all over the place.
"But what can I possibly do?" The young boy stuttered.
There's no sunlight for me in this world.
No clear skies.
There's no hope.
He cries as he breaks down, holding himself in a hugging position. There's nothing for me here.
He cries in silence as the TV makes small noises. It was on, but the ads were running. Naturally, he tuned them out.
"In times of despair, hope if something you give yourself."
That is true strength.
He looked forward, and he saw Mister N waving a flag.
"In efforts for a better tomorrow" was the campaign.
"I'll do better. For myself, for everyone." Antent sniffled.
"Hope is something you give yourself. And one day I want to be someone who can give that hope to others."
4 years later, he was found dead with his wrists cut open.
A slow, horrific bleeding.
All by himself in his apartment's bathroom tub.
His Letter read.
I have seen my life end at night, yet it always begins the next morning.
This time, it did not.
Death comforted me with a quiet promise that all the mess I made would finally come to an end. But there is a feeling I cannot describe.
One that makes me want to cry.
Because when I die, it will not just be my body that fades. It will be everything I loved.
Every word I left unsaid. Every silent wish I ever made. The future will die with me. I will not come back. I will not look at myself in the mirror again. I will not be able to see your smile again. Everything I loved will disappear.
Death is like being carried in the rain by your lover. Like dancing together in the kitchen while baking cookies. Like being carried to bed while you are asleep.
Like your laughter becoming the summer soundtrack.
It is like seeing stars at 3 a.m. and naming each one while thinking about our future. It's holding each other's hands and smiling.
But when I died, they clothed me in white. They buried me in a beautiful casket, but as I bleed out, big brother, I'm afraid. I'm so scared.
And I'm so sorry.
I will be useful in my life at least once, because beautiful flowers will grow from my body. They will be picked by lovers, and their petals will fall when it is over.
I made the weapon. It's a tool of happiness. Not of destruction.
Take it, Anastasia, and don't fake it like the pretenders.
Please use it to fix this world. Make it a place where people like me can survive.