The copper earth

Trigger warning: gore, violence, suicide

The people around the streets and sidewalks stare as he walks in and out of corner shops with bags of groceries, he shuts and locks his door behind him with the sour taste of judgment lingering on the back of his tongue. He was used to the eyes scanning him every day with what he was wearing, he was the sore thumb of the city that he roamed but he never thought those stares would make him go completely crazy in his simple and gloomy apartment.

What was wrong with wearing a choker, high boots, black shorts, and a yellow sweater? Maybe it was because he liked wearing an outfit that stood out from the others once in a while, even if he knew that he was a simple teenage boy at 18. 

Every Friday he went out in an outfit similar to the one he wore before, and once again the people's eyes were glued to his appearance staring at every move he made.

The kid grew more and more insane with the days that grew, he felt a tickle at the top of his earlobe as the first intrusive thought wormed its way into his brain. Every night that passed and every day made the dandelions grayer, and the mood of the boy grew dark and droopy as he sulked in his untucked sheets on his mattress. 

The cuts on his wrists have gone dry with pressure from the bandages, and the marks on his neck that had once beckoned him to the depths of the beyond with his hands have ceased. He is not at peace. He has never been when the remarks and pupils of others' eyes have stuck to him like tar.

We do not know where to find him now, he is too deep in his own water-filled room having an attack that most wouldn't call physical but inflicts pain on himself because of a single word whispered into his own ear. His short and fluffy brown hair was being grasped by his rough fingers as he screamed through his teeth.

The pain inside was nothing like his frail and graceful body swaying in the freezing cold body of liquid occupying his room and taking him with it. He saw himself as his eyes forced themselves open, he was not in control with his lanky legs as the emptiness was slowly swallowing him like pitch-black quicksand. He knew where he was going even if he didn't have control. He was now on the edge of a small bridge, it was high enough to break most of his bones, but it wasn't the right place.

He stood on the sidewalk where he would casually get his morning coffee from a nearby cafe, he could easily take one step and be thrown across the road like a limp ragdoll. No, This wasn't the right place either. Confused the boy tried to fight back the loss of vision as he fainted from the lack of air.

He knew what this felt like, his hands run across what seemed to be a metal object because it was cold and smelled of iron. The form of the object was very detailed, even though it wasn't depicted through the eyes of its owner. As the boy regained vision the object fell to the ground with a clatter at his feet, everything was still blurry to him even if he could see a fraction of the world he was living in.

There was once a tale that the boy heard and remembered when smelling the iron in the air. Where the people in this world are made of dirt and precious resources, where humans walked the earth with unknown intentions to interact with others at their own will. The thought didn't last long when he realized he had regained his senses. Running into the bathroom, he splashed cold water onto his face. The drops of water clung onto his pores desperately trying to re-hydrate the boy's flaky skin. 

He didn't even take a glance at the object that had fallen on the floor next to his toes a second after he turned the knob of his bathtub, beginning a nice and warm shower.

Now wearing an oversized shirt and huddled back into his bed covers, he sighed comfortably. This, this was the right place. As much as he wanted to believe that the vivid vision he saw of himself as he is now, he knew such a cruel world would never leave him a moment to bathe in the peaceful sunlight. 

The shine and glint of the metal figure still grazed his memory as he stared at it from his bedroom door, he wondered what it would be like if he touched it again and lifted his finger to the dangerous yet beautiful thing.

This beautiful thing had the boy's name engraved into the left side, showing that he in fact owned it but had never used it against another. The question is, who or what would he use it on? Would he perhaps play god and target the ones who left him in the dust, or abuse worn cans on the edge of a fence, no one would ever know. 

He slowly approached the object, admiring it in its own light reflected from the kitchen window. It was a bit heavy as he ran his hands along it once more, seeing it more clearly as he had a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He had been wanting to do this so badly for weeks on end now, he just couldn't take the reality that kept a barrier from himself and his thoughts. 

A soft click came from it as the barrel rolled to the next capsule. There were no tears shed, but a dead stare as the pressure of the gun lightly kissed his skin. In the moment he knew the name of the story he heard as a child.

The story that dealt with deceivers, tricksters, the poor, and the depressed. It all started as dirt which resided in chaos' personality, but chaos can seduce the mind and soul to do things easily without re-thinking the outcome. 

The taste of judgment changed to the sight of almost mercy as the bullet lodged into the back of his skull. His vision turned red as he motionlessly sank to the ground, the gun clanking once more on the tile floor next to the deep pool of mahogany coming from the boy's curled up and stiff body. 

He had now joined the lonely and forgotten, in the place called the copper earth.