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Dazai sighed, walking along the quiet wooden bridge. This place was so far into the forests that there wasn't another human in sight. Walking along this bridge, over a ravine with a rushing river, he felt a sense of calm he didn't expect. The railings were beautifully decorated with vines and flowers, the sound of the river mixed with chirping of birds and leaves rustling in the breeze, and it made him falter.
When he set out here he'd thought this really would be the last day he was forced to be alive. Most of the time it was other people that stopped him, he couldn't bare to make other people have to see, he was easily talked out of it. The reason he was easily talked down, he thought, had been nothing but pure guilt.
Even if he actually did manage to go through with it there were other people around to keep him alive despite injuries that would have otherwise killed him. People kept him alive because they wanted him alive, he found it terribly selfish sometimes. He didn't get a say, he had to stay for other people, no matter what pain he felt. No matter why people keep him alive, responsibility over him, genuine affection and personal connections, or just wanting to use him for something, there had never been a point in his life when he truely belonged to himself.
It wasn't his life on the line, it was theirs, no matter how well intentioned they'd all acted like his life belonged to them. He was his parents, Moris, Chuuyas, Fukuzawas, Kunikidas and everyone else who'd ever stopped him. His fate was not his own to chose, he'd always belonged to others and it was awful because he knew they didn't mean to act like that. At least no one but Mori but that was beside the point. The people who cared about him didn't want to make him feel even more trapped it wasn't their intention to strip him of any control over himself. They didn't want to make him feel like nothing but a person that owed others everything he was. But they did.
He wasn't a proper person and he was treated like he wasn't one at all sometimes. Were they right? Did they have more right to everything about him including his mortality than he did? Maybe, but he wasn't even very good as a captive companion. He was self destructive and unstable, unfocused and incapable of a lot of things most people could do like paperwork and having enough energy to be out of bed all day. But they were too stubborn to care, they refused to acknowledge how much keeping him bound by a leash to life was hurting them. It was all so horribly tragic.
Was he mad at these people? No. He was saddened though, he knew he wasn't going to get better. He'd been born wishing to undo that very act, and that fact would never change there were only distractions to keep him from thinking about it. The desire not to be alive anymore was always waiting in the back of his mind for him to daydream about on bad days or nights when everything else faded away leaving only him and his wounds.
He was deeply broken, the scars on his skin paled in comparison to the ones that weren't visible. Those wounds were deep and they'd never heal, it always hurt so much and they bled him dry every second he was alive. If only they were the visible ones, then maybe people would see how cruel keeping him alive really was.
There was no fixing him, only providing distractions to avoid the inevitable.
Oda had told him he'd wander through the darkness for eternity, and set him off on a path to live for others since he couldn't ever live for himself. And he had, he'd tried so goddamnit hard but he could only take so much of this. He couldn't hope to get better because everyone knew he wouldn't even if they wouldn't say so. I'm taking away his pointless hope Oda had stripped him of his last saving grace to fall back on in the hell that was his mind. Now there was only dread and fear and the constant knowledge that nothing good ever lasted long for him. He'd go back to drowning in the abyss of his own being the moment he stopped fighting to keep his head above water.
He felt guilty, and deeply saddened by it himself, because he truly cared about the people keeping him alive. He didn't want to leave them, but he couldn't bare to be alive. He didn't want to hurt them but he so desperately wanted to escape his own pain and he had held out for so long, he was only so strong. Despite how deeply he cared for these people and how much their presence made life a bit more okay while they were there, once they weren't distracting him all he could find within himself was a desire for rest.
No matter what he did he could never rest, he went to bed tired and woke up the same, relaxation was a foreign concept when your whole life had been clouded with fear and suffering. The only way he'd be able to rest was if he didn't exist, dying was the only true relief he could wish for. He wanted to die so badly.
So why was he hesitating now?
Everything was so serene as he stood with his hands rested on the railing. There was no one there to stop him, no one to save him. There was no one and nothing chaining him to life, he could finally be free. But he just stood there, listening to the birds, watching the sparkling river below and the clouds above, the forest all around him and a butterfly resting on a flower by his hand. It was all so beautiful.
If it was true that nothing is perfect, than maybe this was nothing more than his imagination. He felt like he could stand here for hours and never spot a single flaw. 'How strange' He thought as the setting sun painted the sky 'that someone like me is allowed to be here and see all this.'
The thought of death was replaced with a calm awe as he stood and took in the environment he felt so privileged to be surrounded by. Surely he didn't belong here, broken and guilty of countless terrible things, he should have already thrown himself into the river like he'd planned. And yet, nothing around him broke, his touch hadn't shattered the beautiful scene he'd walked into.
If anything he felt, startlingly like he belonged here, especially when a butterfly landed on this wrist, fully tying him in with the rest of the picture. How beautiful...
He laughed weakly when he remembered why he was here, realizing that no matter what he wouldn't be able to bring himself to actually die. The laughter was mostly shock, and his eyes welled up with tears in an instant. He stood still and let the tears fall, no one was here to see him break down after all. He'd picked the perfect place to die with no witnesses or help and finally get his release. Yet here he was, crying because he once again had no idea what to do.
Rubbing his face he stepped back from the railing, the butterfly having left to visit a nearby flower already. It was clearly to no avail as he was only crying harder. He felt like a lost kid again and he hated it, he had been sure this would be the end but it wasn't and he didn't know what to do next.
Sitting down he pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging himself and hiding his face as he sobbed. If death really wouldn't work despite having no obstacles other than himself, what was even left? He'd never improve and he hated feeling like this, was he really going to have to feel like this until he died from something other than himself? This was just unfair, most things that happened to him been unfair, but for some reason this was a breaking point.
So there he was, not dead in the river, but sitting on the bridge, hugging himself and sobbing like he used to all the time when he was just a pathetic little kid with no escape from an abusive childhood. Now he was broken down sobbing over having no escape from the hell that was inside his own mind.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?