Yet another suicide story...blame MyVengefulRomance
You can't kill yourself The voice was taunting him as he raised the gun to his head You're such a coward, you couldn't do it He growled out in anger at the little voice at the back of his head as he pressed the barrel harder against his skull, shivering at the cold of the metal and what he was about to do. The voice changed though and in seconds in was the voice of a scared little boy, trying to talk sense into someone they'd already lost What about the others? What about your Mama? Or Dada? Or your band? What about all the fans and the kids who need you? The suicidal ones? What will they think if you kill yourself? He paused, his index finger half way to the trigger as a tear began to roll down his white pale cheek. Closing his eyes he tried to block out the image that had floated into his mind of his mother's face when she heard the news that her only other son was dead...
Shaking his head he opened his eyes and looked up at the mirror in front of him, the tears sparkling in the dim light of the hotel bathroom. Downstairs in the lobby his manager was waiting for him to come down, to give a statement about the deaths of his band mates in their horrific crash. He choked back a sob as he heard their screams and the screech of the lorry's breaks again, replaying over and over in his mind. His hand was shaking, the hand holding the gun...he couldn't do it...couldn't end his life like that and biting his lip he lowered the gun, lowered it from his skull and dropped it back in the bag at his feet and then he broke down; huddled up against the cupboard as his body shook with sobs.
But he couldn't take the pain either, not like this, the guilt and the pain. He never would have had thought as he'd walked across the car park to that service station in Utah that when he came out his band mates would be living the last minutes of their lives. Burying his head in his hands he could only sob harder, almost screaming out in pain and hate for himself. Why did he live when they died? Why him? There was nothing special about him, just some stupid singer for a band too big for it's own boots. Screwing his eyes tight shut his hands balled into fists as a sudden burst of rage shot through his mind. Who the fuck was he? He didn't mean anything, the world would move on, carrying on spinning. He'd not been there when his band mates died, he'd never told them how much he loved them all, how much they meant to him. Uncurling himself he stood up, grabbing the gun from the bag and not even stopping to think as he raised it back to his skull. Without a look around the room, closing his eyes he screamed out in agony and hate as he pulled the trigger, the bullet shrieking through bone and muscle as in blinding white light it ended his life. But he died with a smile on his pale face and when his body was found hours later, blood flowing from his skull he was still smiling. He was going to Hell and as he walked through the flames he would call their names. Call their names and find them again.
The rifts of guitars broke through the crackling fires, the pound of the drum beat past the boom of damned footsteps and the roar of a broken New Jersey vocalist rose over the screams of the eternally dying. None of them smile, they don't even know that they're singing but in their tortured minds they're together...for eternity.