LPfiction

Category Linkin Park

Default by im.no.saviour

You don't know what to do with yourself. You never really have.


Indecisiveness isn't something you were born with, it isn't coded into your genetics and, as a child, it wasn't an issue. But now it rests just beneath your flesh - running through your veins, slowing down your limbs, clamping your mouth and keeping your mind in a constant turmoil.


Fuck, you can't even order food from Burger King without taking twenty minutes to decide on a meal number.


--


"Just hurry up and pick something, I'm fucking hungry."


"But I don't know what I want."


"You always get the same thing here: a medium number seven and a whopper."


"Well maybe I want something different."


"Whatever, I'll be at the table."


So you stand there leaning against the rail, staring up at the lit menu. Brad swipes his cup from the tray, muttering something involving the words "faggot" and "nonsense".


And you stand there. Glancing at the clock every few seconds or so, until all you're focusing on is the time passing. The tick of the second hand calms you, but the way the girl in your biology class is glaring at you from behind the counter is making you really uncomfortable. You take a step toward the counter, barely getting out your order above a whisper.


"What was that?" she asks, irritation seeped into her words; etched on her face.


"I said, 'I'll have a medium number seven and a whopper, thanks'."


--


It starts with a few simple words, but strung together, and they just tear you the fuck down.


There's only so many times you can hear "You're not capable" before you're convinced that you're truly not capable of a god damn thing.


It comes in different forms, from different people, but it all means the same thing - you have failed, you will fail and you will continue to fail.


--


"You can't apply there."


You're sitting at the kitchen table whilst filling out college applications, when your mother peeks over your shoulder.


"Why?" You want more power in your voice. You want to believe you have the right to question anyone.


"You'll never get accepted there, don't fool yourself. Why don't you take a year off? Get your shit together? Show them that you're worth accepting?"


You want to tell yourself she means well. That she's not intentionally being rude, or destroying your hopes for the future. You want to tell her that she never went to college, so she doesn't know. She wouldn't know how to use a library if Dewey Decimal smacked her in the face. She couldn't know anything about you, but you set the application aside for now.


Until two days later when you're sitting in your guidance counselor's office going over the schools you're applying to.


"Oh, honey, you can't go here."


"Why?" You still want more power behind your words. You still want to believe.


"You wouldn't be able to afford it. Even if you got a financial aid package, it wouldn't help any. They won't give you enough."


And you just sit there, silent, as she slides the application in the shredder. You idly wonder how many lives are destroyed by that machine and whether you really wanted to pursue music anyway.


--


You've given up on even trying now.


You took years of your life and wasted them on deciding what to do with them. You made attempts at everything you've been deemed "good" at, and where did leave you? Left alone in your mother's living room, wishing, praying to be given one more chance to start over.


But the wishes and prayers do you no good, because you know the outcome already and you don't think you can take another "I told you so".


So you don't.


Instead, you take what's left of your life - a mead notebook, a bic pen, and a bottle and a half of prozac - and jot down the words you've been trying to form from day fucking one while slipping down the pills two at a time.


After the numbness has set in, and while you're in the right state of mind before the seizures come, you can't help but think of what will cross their minds when they find you. 'We could've saved him'? 'Another failure'? Or maybe even, 'I'm surpised he lasted this long'?


And you smile. Because when your jaw tightens to draw blood and your eyes roll back to never see again, only one thought is coursing through your mind:


You've won this time, Mike. You've finally succeeded.


--


mmm, i loved that i bumped a suicide fic with another suicide fic, don't you?

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