sixteen...

by postmalone

Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for mature content.

Slow. Monotonous.

The dull thud of my heavy shoes echoes in my ears, contrasting with the chatter of the other freshmen.

Thud. Thud.

It is the only sound I can make out.

My weary eyes stop straining to decipher every detail, and move my sleep-deprived body down the hallway.

Laughter fades. Sixteen or so faces mix together.

I carefully push open the door, letting in brisk winter air. Snow is falling.

My faded sneakers crunch against crisp snow.

Crunch. Crunch.

Back of the bus again. The familiar sound of my noisy vehicle drums in my head.

Sixteen minutes later, I amble slowly down the iced driveway. The house is far from the road with a mile between us and the neighbors. No one's home.

Good.

That will make everything much easier.

I don't bother with any daily tasks. I simply move robotically to my room.

I start blaring my "screamo" music as my mom calls it. Silly woman. She doesn't understand.

The first note of "Welcome To The Black Parade" hits me.

Drip. Drip.

The tears cascade furiously down, heating my cheeks with their warmth. I can't see anything. It's all blurry.

Thud. Thud.

Now I'm trodding to the bathroom, carrying my music with me. My stomach growls. I push the need for a meal down farther.

I'm sore all over.

I reach the bathroom, and hit the lock.

Click.

The music is set to repeat sixteen times.

Sixteen.

I won't live to sixteen.

I start the water and my aching eyes turn everything to mush. I mind-numbingly begin to count.

Sixteen bruises.

Sixteen long, fresh scars running up my thighs, stomach, shoulders.

Sixteen burn marks.

Next week is -

Was supposed to be my sixteenth birthday. Oh well. I don't want anyone to celebrate my life, even if they remembered.

The song plays again. The lead singer's voice, Gerard Way, is so emotion-filled and beautiful.

Not me, though. All I am is fat, as the bullies say. Ugly, compared to everyone. Disgraceful, say my teachers. Freak, say hidden voices. Slut and whore come from rumors.

Worthless.

The bath fills up. I turn off the water, boiling hot just for me.

Plop. Plop...

My trusty razor. Oh, how I will miss her company, among the other fifteen razors I've used and broken.

Sixteen of everything. I take out my camera, and set it to record. My croaky voice begins to speak, while Gerard is singing in the background.

Beep. Beep.

"I... I'm sorry. I (pause) couldn't do this anymore. The depression...the anxiety...the secrecy of my life. It became too much to bear. Mom, Dad? I've been struggling with this for two years...you couldn't have saved me anyways. I... I love you both. Please don't cry.

"To the boy that I once knew: I'm so sorry I was never good enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, popular enough. You still mean so much to me..."

I list a few teachers and a few peers that actually (pretended?) cared.

Eventually, I muster up the minimal strength to stop recording, my blue eyes filling up with death-laced tears.

Whirrrr.

I set it outside the bathroom door, a note attached to the lens that says 'Read me' and 'Do not call 9-1-1. I'm sorry'.

Click! goes the lock again.

Red gushes out of my blue veins.

A brilliant, vermilion red. My favorite color along with black, the color clothing I wore daily.

It hurts.

It hurts so bad.

"Ahhh..."

Soft cries. Whimpers. Unconsolable shaking.

Splat. Splat.

My tears hit the prescription bottle of opioid pills.

I needed the entire thing. I had two stolen backup bottles locked in here with me.

One. Two. Three. Five. Ten. Twelve. Thirteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

I submerge myself, immersing myself in the scalding water.

My bruises turn bright. My scars sting and empty out trickling blood.

"FUCK!" I scream. "DAMMIT!"

My lips start turning blue after some minutes went by. I'd been too shell-shocked and in pain to move.

Next, my veins.

Puff. Puff.

My breathing slowed, becoming shallow.

Five breaths followed. Two more.

While I was still conscious, still alive, my fingertips started losing color.

Ohhh.

Four short breaths. Another breath. And another.

I forgot what repeat number song I was on, but Gerard kept singing,

I keep sinking slower into oblivion,

And all was well with the world.

Comments

Points: 1762
Reviews: 27

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Sun Feb 12, 2017 12:47 am

DrLavender wrote a review...

Hey! Just read this, and absolutely loved it! Here are a couple of notes I've taken while reading this.

My weary eyes stop straining to decipher every detail, and move my sleep-deprived body down the hallway.

I feel like instead of saying "and" before "move", you could instead reword it to say "moving", so that the entire sentence looks like this: My weary eyes stop straining to decipher every detail, moving my sleep-deprived body down the hallway.

"Ahhh..."

Perhaps capitalize this?

Aside from that, I loved this. It was dark, it was deep, and it was a slap of reality. I tend to write in similar themes myself, and am glad to know I'm not entirely alone. I really look forward to seeing more from you!

postmalone says...

Thanks!

Points: 93
Reviews: 216

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Fri Feb 03, 2017 4:52 pm

DivergentDemigod says...

I'm in love with this poem.

postmalone says...

Thanks Demi <3

Points: 1689
Reviews: 52

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Fri Feb 03, 2017 11:42 am

LeutnantSchweinehund wrote a review...

First of all, and this is very important, quit worrying about offending people. It's crucial that you do so. There will always be someone who's 'offended' by your work. Send them all to hell and write whatever you like.

Now to your work! I like it! It's actually quite good, in my opinion! In the sense that it didn't feel like a chore to read. Didn't plan on reviewing anything today, but this does deserve a quick critique.

It flows well, for the most part. There are areas where you use unnecessarily complicated and long words. Some people like it, and it's a matter of personal taste, but I don't. In my opinion, overly-exotic words can potentially break the rhythm and flow of your work. Only use them when it sounds brilliant out loud. But that's just my amateur advice. Apart from these few missteps, you maintain rhythm very well.

The paragraph breaks are a bit much. Again, personal taste, but I think you could make them shorter between related lines. Break it up into a few longer paragraphs (split them where the scene changes) and it'll be even better, I think.

I genuinely dreaded the last part. Not because it's badly written, but because I dread to imagine the sheer pain of cutting one's own body. I dread it even more because the wounds are self-inflicted, which would logically make it even worse!

Overall, well-written.

5 points base,
+1 point for maintaining rhythm.
+2 points for the story itself.
-1 points for ill-fitting words and a few rhythm breaks.

7/10. Good.

postmalone says...

Thank you! I appreciate the review

Points: 2856
Reviews: 41

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Fri Feb 03, 2017 5:59 am

SteppeVesteffi wrote a review...

Hello,

So I was definitely not expecting something quite this heavy. (Not that that's a bad thing.)

It's very good. I liked the way you wrote it: Stylistic choices can sometimes come across as heavy-handed and unnecessary, but in this case, I felt like every stylized decision suited the story and subject matter. I also really enjoyed your imagery, and your wording—though maybe the writing bordered on a bit overdone or melodramatic at times? But overall, it was really quite good.

I think the best part was the emotion. That's so difficult to capture with a piece like this, and you nailed it. I felt your protagonist's pain. I believed it and I ached for her, and it really struck me as tragic. Her narration was perfect: full of longing and melancholy, with just the right amount of bitterness. Excellent work with that, truly.

I did notice a few instances where you seemed to switch tenses, and occasionally overused adverbs/adjectives. It also felt at times like the character's suffering and everything that was going on with her was maybe a tad excessive and clichéd—the cutting, the body-shaming/bullying, the clueless parents, the lack of friends, the unrequited love/crush. If you'd only used one or two of those, it wouldn't have been an issue, but piling all of them onto this one character did start to feel like overkill, or like you were checking off boxes. That said, those are all common problems and often are prevalent in the lives of suicidal or depressed teenagers, so I can't exactly fault you for using them—I mean, they're clichéd for a reason, right? Just maybe remember in the future that sometimes, less is more.

Besides that, there's really not much to criticize about this piece—it pretty much hits all the right notes. The writing itself is perfectly sorrowful, laced with latent dread, and as I said, your protagonist's voice is utterly flawless. It's a very good story.

Now for some nitpicks:

My faded, torn sneakers crunch against new fallen, crisp snow.

Try "new, crisp fallen snow" or "newly-fallen, crisp snow."

Back of the bus again. The familiar sound of my nosiy bus drums in my head.

Looks like you accidentally switched around the S and the I in "noisy." Also, "bus" is repetitive here.

stop recording my blue eyes filling up with death-laced tears

Comma after "recording," and you need a period at the end of this.

"Ahhh.."

Three dots, not two.

"****!!" I scream. "****!"

So this part confused me, but it looks like your character is shouting an expletive and you felt the need to censor it with asterisks? Well, if that's the case, YWS does allow the use of swear words in stories, so that's really not necessary—and, frankly, it just looks odd, so even if it was a stylistic choice, I'd still recommend replacing the asterisks with the proper words. Also, the double exclamation points following the first bit of dialogue aren't really correct.

So, in summation, this piece was quite good. It was terrible and sad, just as it should be. I thought your portrayal of suicide and depression was sympathetic and, for the most part, realistic. I have a feeling this work will resonate with a lot of people.

Well done.

postmalone says...

When I finished reading I felt annoyed by how much you picked out. But I waited a bit for the feeling to go away. I didn't edit it when I typed it, but now I've gone back and corrected nearly all the errors you stated. Thank you, Noise.

Less sometimes can really be more.

Young Writers Society

sixteen...

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