ONE FOR SORROW
Always One For Sorrow, Never One For Love.
ONE FOR SORROW
By: Dingir
_And the rain keeps falling
Pouring down from the sky
Washing footmarks from the mire
Leaving no trace behind
And as the shadows grow taller
Swallow all the light
I'm left alone in darkness
With no one by my side_
INSOMNIUM - REGAIN THE FIRE
_ *I've tried. I really have. Life has been rough but I I'm tired and need to rest. I can't keep fighting anymore. This is it. I'm sorry to everyone who will find me and have to deal with me when I'm gone. I was dealt a bad hand and it's not something someone can change. I was destined for failure right from the start. I have nothing to give to anybody. Just burn me and dump my ashes with everyone else who has no next of kin. * _
_ -Charlie _
This was written on a piece of paper that was folded neatly on a nightstand. The writer of this note was in his bathroom and adjusting his black tie in the mirror. He was a black-furred wolf. The apartment was quiet, almost hauntingly quiet. The only lights on were the bathroom light and the lamp by his bed on his nightstand. He sighed as he checked himself one last time in the mirror. He reached into his pocket and looked at the receipt for the suit rental and simple smirked. He placed it neatly on the bathroom counter before turning around and leaving shutting off the light and closing the door. He looked around his apartment. Though the walls were draped in shadows, he could tell that they were empty. He looked at his nightstand. Along with the neatly folded note was a paper which read "Eviction Notice" at the top, as well as a stack of other unpaid bills. Next to the papers was a wooden box. He sighed and sat on his bed.
These past few years have been the worst of his entire life. Ever since he graduated high school his life was set on a downward spiral. With no money left in his bank account, no job, no lover, no family, no pets, and no reason to live he decided his time was up. So short was Charlie's life, at 26 years old he should be in his prime, but it's not something that can be helped. As said in his note, he was dealt a bad hand. The fact is people are born lucky and Charlie was not one of them. As he reflected on his life he began to sob. His tears streaming down his cheeks as he shakes with sadness and sorrow. If only he were one of the lucky ones.
He sobs loudly. His chest feels heavy and limbs weak. Tired of the stress and fight to survive. He cries and cries, the fur in his hands and face becoming damp with salty and sorrowful tears. Left in solitude and without any hand to hold to guide him, he felt lost and abandoned by the hands of fate. The only salvation being his own hand, that would take his life. He reaches over to the wooden box, arms shaking and heart racing. He opens it, inside are things from his childhood. A photo of his young-self holding a fishing line with a dangling tiny fish on the end. The first fish he caught. Another photo of himself at a young age showed him standing proudly on top of a large rock holding a stick out in his hand triumphantly. This made him let out a sobbing laugh, his tears still flowing down his face strongly.
Also, inside was a locket. With shaking hands, he tried to open it. He got it open after struggling a bit and inside was a picture of his childhood pet. A small Jack Russell named Laika. He smiled and closed it before putting it back inside the box. He then took out his childhood pocket knife that he had from when he was a scout. He sniffed and suddenly felt calm. After taking a deep breath he closed the box and put it on the nightstand. He looked at his pocketknife. It had white marble grip and a silver frame. He found it while hiking in the woods. On it was engraved the phrase, "Always One For Sorrow, Never One For Love.". He opened the knife and looked at the shining blade. He could see his face that was damped with tears. He sighed and sat back on his bed so his back was against the head frame.
This was it. There was no going back. Slowly, he raised the blade to his neck and held it there. His breathing began to quicken as his heart pounded out his chest. His head began to dampen with sweat as his arm shook nervously. He took a big gulp and with a deep inhale through his nose, he cut deep into his neck and moved his arm horizontally along his throat. His eyes widened as he felt the blade run over his windpipe before soon being flooded with blood. His breathing sped up wildly in an instinctive fight for survival. He heard his blood gushing out like a quite soft fountain. As his lungs contracted and expanded air escaped from the gaping cut in his throat. He threw the blade across the room and groaned, however the only thing escaping from his throat was a blood gurgling wheeze. Hearing this he kept trying, trying to scream for help, but he couldn't.
He closed his eyes tightly hoping it would all be over soon. His chest felt warm as blood absorbed into the fabric of his suit while his insides began to feel cold. Charlies raspy gurgling gasps sent blood flying across the bed as he tears ran down his face. He breathed quickly as he struggled to keep his life intact just for a bit longer. Was this regret? No. Not for Charlie. This was just one more trial of pain before sweet release. Soon as his limbs began to grow weak and blood continued to pour from the cut artery. He let a faint smile out as he leaned back and relaxed. His breathing growing ever calmer as a began to succumb to his fate. He felt his pants and the fur on his legs dampen with urine. He looked at the ceiling as he watched his vision begin to blur and darken. He started to cry again, but silently this time. Just tears with a blank expression on his face was the last thing on his face that he felt before succumbing to the black oblivion. To sleep for an eternity in a dreamless dream. In non-existence and blackness forever, from which no one can escape. Death is the one thing that no one can escape.
It would be 2 weeks until his neighbors began to complain about the smell before his body was discovered.