Petri Dish Disappointment

TRIGGER WARNING!! - Self-harm & Eating Disorder

Nathan hated life for as long as he’d been conceived, being tossed back and forth across his hometown like an unwanted stray dog by divorced parents. He doesn’t blame them, he blames the rabbit doctors that made him inside a petri dish. IVF the medical practice of creating children for people who couldn’t naturally conceive. Something his parents thought, mainly his mother, would solve all their marital issues. It didn’t, Nathan made all the problems more clear; they divorced when he wasn’t even a year old. At school he was ritually harassed and bullied a dark cloud loomed over him. He confided in a blade and toilet bowl, skin splitting gashes listened better than any human ear ever could. The toilet bowl let him pour his guts out until he was left an empty shell. Sitting opposite of the bowl, blade discarded at his side realization creeps up on him like wolf to a sheep. It — didn’t help anymore the blade nor the toilet bowl, for the first time it felt like talking to a human. His knees creep up to his chest, heart pounding in his ear, hands reaching to grip at his hair. Inescapable sobs screeched out, tears creating waterfalls down his puffy face. Hair sticking to saliva coated fingers blood drenching the dirty bathroom tiles. chest heaving.

He’d stay like this, until Sabrina came home to hear his cries she tries to comfort him the best she can. While tending to the gashes along his arms afterwards wrapping a blanket around those boney shoulders, coaxing him out of the bathroom into their bed. Running her long delicate fingers through his long light brown hair allowing him to cry into her shoulder.

Our Favorite Memory

This is a oneshot of my OC's Nathan & Sabrina a Y2K goth couple. They had a relatively healthy relationship. Both struggled with mental health issues.

The world feels so small without you. Lounging for the nights I could look into your eyes and get lost within your soul. Facebook posts about us being two stray dogs that found one another. I hear you in the music blasting from our car radio. When night drives get quiet without your relentless rambles. That was all before, before the blood covered floor, before the paramedics, before the rush, before the tears, and before the morgue. I never thought your eyes could look so dead, once filled with such a soul, gone. Do you still remember me? Our dog? Or our favorite memory?

“Saabrinaa, we need to go!”

“One more minute I promise!”

“You said that a minute ago!”

“Okay, okay, I’m done!”

I bolted out of the bathroom rushing towards the stairs, where Nathan is at the bottom. My beloved new rocks cladded my feet thumping along aged wooden floors. I reached the narrow stairwell and in my haste I missed one step too many. My body launching down the stairs flailing about my arms and legs contorting into different stages of a squashed spider. A large pronounced — KATHUMP echoed throughout the house. I immediately righted my body and looked up at Nathan in pure shock. We burst into hysterical laughter, tears clouding our vision.

“How the fuck did you do that!”

“I have no fucking clue, I BLAME THE NEW ROCKS!”

It was nothing spectacular but to us it was everything. We had only been dating for a year and living together for 6 months. That was the first time we felt like a real couple, the first time I realized you were my person and I was yours. Now you lay in a morgue drawer on a cold slab of steel, waiting to be cremated. So I can spread your ashes in the woods behind your childhood home, just like you wanted. Keeping a little bit of you stashed away in the locket I kept with a photo of everything you used to be. You were more than just my person, you were and still are my home.

Welcome Fuckheads

This blog is the love child of Depression, Isolation, & Insomnia. Conceived in a room filled with incenses smoke and 14 year old me reading Drawing blood by Poppy Z Brite. After having finished The Sluts by Dennis Cooper an hour prior. Listening to a playlist filled with London After Midnight, Nirvana, Korn, Nine Inch Nails, Manic Street Preachers, and Type O Negative. During that time I deiced to start writing my own short stories and build my own realities. Now I have a computer hard drive packed to the brim and it’s about to combust. So, this is their little corner hidden within the vast world of cyberspace. A graveyard filled with tragedy laced in sinful desires. I will confess that all of the writings I did as a young teenager have been edited or rewritten.