Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Goodbye Sanity, Goodbye Life ❯ Weevil ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: mercynre 
Weevil commits suicide.
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.06.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 984 | Visits: 303 | Status: Work In Progress
Weevil commits suicide.
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.06.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 984 | Visits: 303 | Status: Work In Progress
Okay, I was in a bad mood when I wrote this. Expect angst and depression. I'm horribly stuck on "Protesting the Conflict in Iraq," and I just found out my insurance stopped covering one of my psychiatric meds, you don't even want to know what that means. MTMH is a real place, and the things Weevil does to get locked up actually did occur... I actually left out the worse parts because I couldn't imagine Weevil doing them. Chapter 2 will contain necrophilia, and insanity. I'm going to hell for writing this, that's for sure.
Goodbye Sanity, Goodbye Life
__Chapter 1: Weevil__
Pale hands replaced the phone carefully, robotically. Wide green eyes stared blankly at the opposite wall before frail legs found the strength to carry a small boy into a dimly-lit bathroom. The phone call he'd feared for months had finally come. At least he no longer had to live with the gnawing dread that had completely consumed him. No, he no longer had to live at all.
Pale hands shook, but only slightly, as they retrieved two bottles of pills. Ambien, Seroquel. The very medications which had saved his life would give him his death. He mused bitterly on how even the choice of suicide wasn't under his control. No, Tenncare had stopped covering one of his prescriptions, and in doing so, had signed his death warrant. Born schizophrenic and having acquired a severe sleeping disorder due to years of psychotic breaks had put him into and out of more psych wards than he could name. The last one, Middle Tennessee Mental health, had been the last straw. He'd sworn to die before ever setting foot into such a place again. MTMH was the last refuge for those who had no hope of living a normal life.
Not that he hadn't deserved that title when he'd arrived there. An intense break from reality had led him to cut himself 56 times with a sharp blade after laying in his room screaming for two days because everything in his world had distorted evilly. He hadn't eaten for 5 days, had a fever of 103, and was still holding the knife to his arm when his case manager had walked into the apartment. He'd been too weak to protest as she'd dragged him to the hospital.
When they'd arrived, and he was left alone while his case manager was being interviewed, he'd used staples from the carpeting to continue cutting, then he'd banged his head against the wall until blood ran down his face. In-between these bouts of hysteria, he'd calmly announced, repeatedly, to the on-call nurses that he was "fine now and ready to go home." Each time, they refused to release him, until, finally, he'd been handcuffed and thrown into the back of a police car for transport to MTMH.
It turned out to be the culmination of the hell he'd been trapped in. Residents walked about in a daze literally shitting themselves. Others would attack fellow patients for minor transgressions such as eye contact. Screams and threats bounced through the halls at all hours of the night.
Although he acted arrogant when dueling, in reality he was small for his age and shy. He only had one friend, and although he'd believed they were close, Rex didn't visit him even once during the two weeks he stayed in that horrible place. He'd been abandoned and terrified, convinced he's never survive the ordeal or ever see freedom again.
Yet he had survived, and shortly after his release, a combination of medications was found which gave him the ability to cope with his illnesses for the firs time in his pathetic life. 20mg of Ambien and 900mg of Seroquel. Everything had taken a turn for the positive. Even when he'd walked in on Rex in the arms of Mokuba, he hadn't resorted back to self-mutilation. He -had- dated Seto briefly for revenge, but that was beside the point.
Closing the medication cabinet, wide green eyes met their own hollow reflection, and the tormented boy turned away. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat in the living room beside the stereo. An unmarked cd was already in the player; he pressed play apathetically.
"When you want it,
It goes way too fast,
Times you hate it,
Always seem to last,
Just remember, when you think you're free,
The crack inside your fucking heart is me...
-erase the speed of pain-
I wish I could sleep
But I can't lay on my back
'Cause there's a knife for every day
That I've known you..."
He considered writing a suicide note, but the idea seemed so cliche. He had nothing left to say, really. If he hadn't found it worthy of telling while he lived, then why should it be told after death?
Pale hands twisted open the bottle of Ambien. The pills were tiny; he found that he could easily swallow ten at a time. Four swallows later, the bottle lay empty and forgotten as he opened the Seroquel. He could only take those one at a time, and before he could make it even a quarter of the way through the bottle, he felt sleepy and stoned. With a great deal of effort, he managed to stumble to the couch and lay down. He'd expected tears to come once the act had become final, but all that came was a peaceful haze. He knew he was dying, but it didn't seem to matter anymore; all he could do was close his eyes and take his last few breaths.
Pale hands grew cold and stiff. Wide green eyes looked upon the world no longer.
Goodbye Sanity, Goodbye Life
__Chapter 1: Weevil__
Pale hands replaced the phone carefully, robotically. Wide green eyes stared blankly at the opposite wall before frail legs found the strength to carry a small boy into a dimly-lit bathroom. The phone call he'd feared for months had finally come. At least he no longer had to live with the gnawing dread that had completely consumed him. No, he no longer had to live at all.
Pale hands shook, but only slightly, as they retrieved two bottles of pills. Ambien, Seroquel. The very medications which had saved his life would give him his death. He mused bitterly on how even the choice of suicide wasn't under his control. No, Tenncare had stopped covering one of his prescriptions, and in doing so, had signed his death warrant. Born schizophrenic and having acquired a severe sleeping disorder due to years of psychotic breaks had put him into and out of more psych wards than he could name. The last one, Middle Tennessee Mental health, had been the last straw. He'd sworn to die before ever setting foot into such a place again. MTMH was the last refuge for those who had no hope of living a normal life.
Not that he hadn't deserved that title when he'd arrived there. An intense break from reality had led him to cut himself 56 times with a sharp blade after laying in his room screaming for two days because everything in his world had distorted evilly. He hadn't eaten for 5 days, had a fever of 103, and was still holding the knife to his arm when his case manager had walked into the apartment. He'd been too weak to protest as she'd dragged him to the hospital.
When they'd arrived, and he was left alone while his case manager was being interviewed, he'd used staples from the carpeting to continue cutting, then he'd banged his head against the wall until blood ran down his face. In-between these bouts of hysteria, he'd calmly announced, repeatedly, to the on-call nurses that he was "fine now and ready to go home." Each time, they refused to release him, until, finally, he'd been handcuffed and thrown into the back of a police car for transport to MTMH.
It turned out to be the culmination of the hell he'd been trapped in. Residents walked about in a daze literally shitting themselves. Others would attack fellow patients for minor transgressions such as eye contact. Screams and threats bounced through the halls at all hours of the night.
Although he acted arrogant when dueling, in reality he was small for his age and shy. He only had one friend, and although he'd believed they were close, Rex didn't visit him even once during the two weeks he stayed in that horrible place. He'd been abandoned and terrified, convinced he's never survive the ordeal or ever see freedom again.
Yet he had survived, and shortly after his release, a combination of medications was found which gave him the ability to cope with his illnesses for the firs time in his pathetic life. 20mg of Ambien and 900mg of Seroquel. Everything had taken a turn for the positive. Even when he'd walked in on Rex in the arms of Mokuba, he hadn't resorted back to self-mutilation. He -had- dated Seto briefly for revenge, but that was beside the point.
Closing the medication cabinet, wide green eyes met their own hollow reflection, and the tormented boy turned away. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat in the living room beside the stereo. An unmarked cd was already in the player; he pressed play apathetically.
"When you want it,
It goes way too fast,
Times you hate it,
Always seem to last,
Just remember, when you think you're free,
The crack inside your fucking heart is me...
-erase the speed of pain-
I wish I could sleep
But I can't lay on my back
'Cause there's a knife for every day
That I've known you..."
He considered writing a suicide note, but the idea seemed so cliche. He had nothing left to say, really. If he hadn't found it worthy of telling while he lived, then why should it be told after death?
Pale hands twisted open the bottle of Ambien. The pills were tiny; he found that he could easily swallow ten at a time. Four swallows later, the bottle lay empty and forgotten as he opened the Seroquel. He could only take those one at a time, and before he could make it even a quarter of the way through the bottle, he felt sleepy and stoned. With a great deal of effort, he managed to stumble to the couch and lay down. He'd expected tears to come once the act had become final, but all that came was a peaceful haze. He knew he was dying, but it didn't seem to matter anymore; all he could do was close his eyes and take his last few breaths.
Pale hands grew cold and stiff. Wide green eyes looked upon the world no longer.