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, carnival graveyards
2 reviewsstare into the gruesome lights all night and never see a fucking thing!
0Unrated
His eyes are glazed over, the tanned flesh surrounding them reddened from lack of sleep, staring into gruesome lights. They’re pissing him off, he decides, everything is pissing him off. He could end this right here, right now, all he has to do is squeeze, apply minimal (or much force) pressure, and turn.
Yes, in fact, that’s what he’s going to do.
In a fluid, quick movement, he reaches and grabs the orange, hardly translucent bottle and does just that; eyes never leaving those lights. Squeeze; apply pressure, turn, and the white pills that were supposed to help him with this exact problem were revealed to him.
His left hand formed a cup, and he pours one of the circular pills into that cup. Here we go, he thinks, and mentally braces himself. He feels strangely calm, like a massive weight has been lifted from his tattooed shoulders. He leans his head back, like he’s gargling grief, and dumps the single pill into his mouth. He swallows it and ignores the bitter taste he receives from it.
Well, obviously, that wasn’t going to do anything to him just yet. He stares at the bottle of pills, the white cap tucked between his hand and the bottle. Do it, he’s thinking, this just isn’t worth it anymore.
And he does. He leans his pretty little head back, and tips the bottle over his bottom lip, pouring the pills into his throat. He swallows them, sometimes choking on them, ignoring the bitter taste. They slide down his throat, his tongue working to push them down, he salivates, and the pills are eventually gone.
He reaches for his phone, but the pills are starting to do their job, his movements are slowed, but he hasn’t noticed yet. He hits the “3” button, knowing it’s Patrick’s speed dial.
“Hey.” His tone is off; the man on the other end who picked up on the first ring notices this.
“Pete? Are you okay?” Patrick’s voice is genuinely concerned.
“Yeh, I’m f-f-ine. I lo-o-ove yew, man!”
“… It doesn’t sound like it. I’m coming to pick you up, where are you?” Patrick hesitates before he speaks, letting out a sigh. He suspects his friend is drunk.
“I dunnooo. Some parkin’ lawt, Bess Buy, I tink.” Pete says, head leaning against the headrest of his sister’s car. Fortunately for Patrick, Willamette is a relatively small town, so therefore the Best Buy shouldn’t be hard to find.
“Alright, see you in a bit.” Patrick mumbles into the phone, about to press the red button when Pete’s alarmed voice comes over it- in sobs.
“Pattttt rick, I dun feel sooo welll. I shouldnta… swallowed dem pillz. I’m sowwy.” Most of his syllables have been interrupted by choked sobs.
Pete receives no response from Patrick instead he receives a click. Patrick has hung up, he realizes, but he does not try to call him back. He feels tired, suddenly, his eyes droop, and over a span of five minutes new lights have entered the parking lot. Red, blue, and loud sirens, but Pete isn’t aware of them. His heart is slowing down, he wants to go to sleep.
the giant swan's got ghosts in his eyes.
his guts are stuffed with polaroids, and they're all humiliating.
and when the wine's drunk and the wild cabaret has sung it's last voice,
and you're sitting all alone in the 4am darkness of a pitch-black theater,
he explodes like fireworks on the stage with gold smoke.
---
Author’s Notes: I thought Pete’s suicide attempt would be fun to write about. I hope you like it, I’m proud of it to some extent. I enjoy being a disturbed writer :3.
Copyrights/Disclaimers: Lyrics copyright to the Blood Brothers, an amazing fucking band. The writing is mine, and Pete and Patrick are themselves. This is a work of fiction.
Yes, in fact, that’s what he’s going to do.
In a fluid, quick movement, he reaches and grabs the orange, hardly translucent bottle and does just that; eyes never leaving those lights. Squeeze; apply pressure, turn, and the white pills that were supposed to help him with this exact problem were revealed to him.
His left hand formed a cup, and he pours one of the circular pills into that cup. Here we go, he thinks, and mentally braces himself. He feels strangely calm, like a massive weight has been lifted from his tattooed shoulders. He leans his head back, like he’s gargling grief, and dumps the single pill into his mouth. He swallows it and ignores the bitter taste he receives from it.
Well, obviously, that wasn’t going to do anything to him just yet. He stares at the bottle of pills, the white cap tucked between his hand and the bottle. Do it, he’s thinking, this just isn’t worth it anymore.
And he does. He leans his pretty little head back, and tips the bottle over his bottom lip, pouring the pills into his throat. He swallows them, sometimes choking on them, ignoring the bitter taste. They slide down his throat, his tongue working to push them down, he salivates, and the pills are eventually gone.
He reaches for his phone, but the pills are starting to do their job, his movements are slowed, but he hasn’t noticed yet. He hits the “3” button, knowing it’s Patrick’s speed dial.
“Hey.” His tone is off; the man on the other end who picked up on the first ring notices this.
“Pete? Are you okay?” Patrick’s voice is genuinely concerned.
“Yeh, I’m f-f-ine. I lo-o-ove yew, man!”
“… It doesn’t sound like it. I’m coming to pick you up, where are you?” Patrick hesitates before he speaks, letting out a sigh. He suspects his friend is drunk.
“I dunnooo. Some parkin’ lawt, Bess Buy, I tink.” Pete says, head leaning against the headrest of his sister’s car. Fortunately for Patrick, Willamette is a relatively small town, so therefore the Best Buy shouldn’t be hard to find.
“Alright, see you in a bit.” Patrick mumbles into the phone, about to press the red button when Pete’s alarmed voice comes over it- in sobs.
“Pattttt rick, I dun feel sooo welll. I shouldnta… swallowed dem pillz. I’m sowwy.” Most of his syllables have been interrupted by choked sobs.
Pete receives no response from Patrick instead he receives a click. Patrick has hung up, he realizes, but he does not try to call him back. He feels tired, suddenly, his eyes droop, and over a span of five minutes new lights have entered the parking lot. Red, blue, and loud sirens, but Pete isn’t aware of them. His heart is slowing down, he wants to go to sleep.
the giant swan's got ghosts in his eyes.
his guts are stuffed with polaroids, and they're all humiliating.
and when the wine's drunk and the wild cabaret has sung it's last voice,
and you're sitting all alone in the 4am darkness of a pitch-black theater,
he explodes like fireworks on the stage with gold smoke.
---
Author’s Notes: I thought Pete’s suicide attempt would be fun to write about. I hope you like it, I’m proud of it to some extent. I enjoy being a disturbed writer :3.
Copyrights/Disclaimers: Lyrics copyright to the Blood Brothers, an amazing fucking band. The writing is mine, and Pete and Patrick are themselves. This is a work of fiction.
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