Archive of Our Own

Randy was hardly in the house since the incident.

He didn't want to be around me.

And I dont blame him that much, either.

That's sad, isn't it.

The incident spoken of, was the death of my mother and sister.

I had gotten sick to death of Randy's weed farm, and I'm pretty sure everyone else had, too. Apart from him.

The truth is, mom wanted a divorce, and she technically owned half the farm.

But randy didn't want to let her have it.

So they argued. They argued, and argued, and argued. And I was fed up.

So I burnt the thing to the fucking ground.

But what I didn't know, was that randy, being the dick he is, had locked Shelley in the barn, because she had gotten fed up too and refused to do her weed chores.

So she went up in flames with the shit that fucked randy up.

..

Mom couldn't take her death. I already knew she didn't love randy, but her saying that there was nothing left to live for hurt me, too. She only cared about her daughter, evidently.

So she shot herself.

And know they're both dead, and randy always blames it on me.

Sure, I probably shouldn't have set the farm on fire, but I was fed up. Similarly, he shouldn't have locked Shelley in the barn. We all have our flaws.

But that means that I am now stuck with him, under his control. But he doesn't do much any more. He doesn't even work, he only ever gets money if it's from gambling or from the government, as money for me living with him.

All he ever does is go to the bar and drink and get high, or do it here.

Honestly, I prefer when he does it at the bar. Sure, being home alone all the time is a bit sad, but it means I dont have to put up with his bullshit.

When he was gone, I often got drunk. Sometimes high, too. I go into his room and take some of the weed he actually managed to save.

Sometimes I go on walks. And sit on the edge of the bridge that the train tracks run underneath of.

Or sometimes I sit on the roof.

I might even go to kyles.

But I don't do that very often anymore, because I've found that the more I socialize, the more sick I will get of people.

And I don't want to get sick of Kyle, God damnit.

I didn't want to get sick of many things, but it's too late for that.

I got sick of food.

I've been running on 1 meal a day for about 3 weeks now.

And it takes me about an hour to finish something that I used to be able to finish within 10 minutes.

You would think that because I don't eat, I would get more hungry. And I do. But it doesn't help the eating issue.

The truth is, if I even smell food that I once loved, it makes my stomach turn. It makes me feel the need to gag. It makes me go lightheaded.

And it shouldn't.

But it does.

Tonight is no exception from the drinks.

I'm starting to think that I might be like randy.

Sure, I always denied it when kyle bought it up if we had an argument, but now that I've become more distanced from him, and I think about what he said more, I actually see it.

I don't want to be like him.

I don't want to drive people to the point of insanity that it tears their family apart.

But it doesn't matter for me. Because my family already is torn apart. And there's nothing I can do to fix that now.

I head into the kitchen, the light affecting my ability to think. I open the fridge and take out whatever sort of booze randy had left in there. I shove 3 more cans in my hoodie pocket and head also go into a drawer, grabbing a couple of pre-rolls I made earlier.

And I head towards the from door.

It's raining outside, but I've been told the rain might do me some good.

So I open the front door and stand on the doorstep for a good half a minute, before I decide to get walking.

I light my spliff, put my earphones in, and go.

I don't know where I'm going, but my legs want to take me there.

It's probably the bridge again.

..

I want to do something to get rid of stress.

But not too much, because I could end up murdering someone. And possibly not myself, for once.

Cartman always made shit for me before everything that happened, I could do something towards him?

But what would that do for me?

Just give him more reason to have hatred towards me?

That wouldn't help.

I take a long drag on the spliff and look up into the sky.

It's dark. White specks are scattered around.

The sky is a sort of purply-navy blue tonight.

It changes every night.

I finish the blunt quicker than I realize, so I chuck it on the floor and stub it out with my foot.

This makes me feel somewhat better.

I take a sip from the can in my hand.

It stings my lips, but it feels good.

I keep walking and yes, I eventually reach the bridge.

I hoist myself up on the side and dangle my feet over the edge, staring into the hazy distance.

It's somewhat calming.

I suddenly get this overwhelming feeling in my chest, to just put my hands either side of my, and push myself off.

And it's bad, because I've been trying for so long to stop getting those feelings.

That's why I isolated myself from everyone.

It's why I only messaged certain people.

It's why I drank whenever I felt even a little bit sad.

It's why I smoked, to distract myself.

I was way too familiar with the phrase 'pain in the body quiets pain in the head', too.

And I know it's not a good thing to do, but if it helps, it helps.

The urge to do it just gets stronger and stronger, so I finish my drink and thrown the can down below me.

I watch and wait for it to fall, making sure I see how fast it goes, and to see the damage impact it takes as it hits the floor. I also make sure I hear the sound.

I do this often.

I like to convince myself it stops the thoughts, but what if it makes them stronger.

What if I'm getting jealous of a fucking can?

How pathetic of me.

I light my last spliff and take a very long inhale.

I hold it in for longer than I should, but it will probably help it hit sooner.

This one was one that I had made for once, and not just one of Randy's, so it was a lot stronger.

To be honest, I don't really like smoking weed.

I only do it to numb the sort of creature I have inside of me.

To tape it's mouth shut.

To just stop... Feeling.. in general.

I take another inhale and think about the uncomfortable slippery feeling beneath my sleeve and trousers legs.

And then I stop, because that numbs too.

Sometimes I just want to give the younger me a hug.

And sometimes I just want to kill him before things get too bad.

Another inhale.

..

Hold

..

Exhale.

..

Keep my hands in the air

..

Don't slide off

..

Repeat.

That's how it goes in terms of smoking, and quite literally being in the edge.

On the edge between life and death.

I've heard people say the line between life and death isn't very thick.

And I've also heard people say I use like a jump rope.

But then again, I don't know what either if those mean half the time, because I'm too shitfaced to think.

I crack open another can.

..

I take a burning sip.

I try to enjoy it.

I feel sick.

I feel numb.

I feel good.

I do it again and again until my stomach isn't the only thing that's empty.

..

Push off?

Yes. No.

Yes for can.

No for self.

Can is allowed to go.

But not you.

Not yet, at least.

..

Or mabye at least drink the last one and not waste it.

But before I do this, I pull out my phone. I start listening to 'The killing moon' by Each and the bunnyman on repeat. It gives me those night nostalgia vibes, if you understand what I mean.

But no. I open my messages to Kyle

Or more like, kyles messages to me.

I scroll from the last time I messaged him. It was on the day after my mother's funeral. Since then, I haven't messaged him, or anyone, properly.

Tuesday 8:47pm

'Hey Stan, you okay?'

'👍'

Wednesday 2:56pm

'Hey Stan. Doing much?'

'👍'

Then Thursday to Friday to Saturday to Sunday to Monday to Tuesday. Again and again.

Until he started to only message me once or twice a week. Because he knew what the reply would be. But he still tried to help me.

Although I made it clear I didn't want it.

Not from him, at least.

I don't want to sound stupid, but he really doesn't understand.

He has a mother who loves and cherishes him. He has a dad whose a bit goofy sometimes, but he's funny and happy and cares for his kids. And he has a little brother. Sure, Ike can be stroppy sometimes, but at least he still has that sibling friendship.

So it's awkward when he tries to talk to me about it, to make me feel better.

Because he knows he'll end up saying the wrong thing, but he can't help it. He's just trying to be nice.

It actually makes me cry sometimes.

Why me, of all people?

But it's not my subject.

Nonetheless, my shaky fingers start typing a message to him for the first time in ages.

'im srty byt u cant save mw thjs timw'

Translating to

'im srry but u cant save me this time'

He's used to my shit spelling

I press send. And I put my phone down next to me.

It's the middle of the night. I don't expect him to be awake.

But evidently, he is, as my phone starts blowing up.

He starts sending messages like

'whats happened?'

'what are you doing?'

'stan you better not be doing what I think your doing'

'where are you'

A pause. He's probably checking snap maps, or something.

'why are you at a fucking bridge?!?!'

'stan WHAT ARE YOU DOING'

'stan please answer me dude'

'answer your goddamn phone'

A pause.

Now my phone starts ringing.

But I ignore it as I crack open my last drink. I drink it a mixture of slowly and quickly.

If he finds me, I don't care. I'll be quicker than him, sliding myself down the side.

Slowly releasing my grip...

I snap out of these thoughts.

Finish your drink first, at least, Stan.

..

Time goes quicker than I notice, when I hear the sound of a car approaching the bridge.

I look at it to recognize it at Kyle's dad's car.

A car that isn't smashed up from all the drunk driving incidents.

I chug the rest of the drink and throw the can, not watching it this time.

I don't watch it, because I could be it in the matter of a few seconds. I hear a car door open.

I swivel my body around as my fingers grip the edge.

I slowly back up, my hands still held on tight.

.....

And now my whole body weight is supported by my fingertips and a couple of tiles.

I look down at the drop beneath me as I hear Kyle shouting and yelling at me.

It looks a look further when it's gonna be you that falls.

But I guess it's no different from kicking the chair.

No different from piercing the chest.

No different to swallowing the pills.

It's just a bit more drastic.

So it better be worth it.

Because I know randy won't be able to afford the hospital bill if this fails.

Not that it would.

So here goes.

I take my last breath.

I lift a finger.

But a stone cold hand presses it back down.

I look up at the familiar emerald eyes and ginger curls.

I don't hear any part of what he says

It's all muffled, to me.

I feel myself dissociate.

My arms get weaker.

Which would be good, if I didn't have someone who I promised I wouldnt do this to and his dad trying to hoist me back over the edge.

I yell something as tears begun to stream down my face.

I yell to let me go.

To let me have the peace that I have longed for oh so long.

But they yell more.

It's Kyle and his loving father against a little kid with nothing but a strong will to go.

I feel my eyes close as my body gets pulled back over the side.

I feel kyles arms around me.

I feel Kyle arms carry me to the car.

I am overwhelmed.

I feel my eyes open again

I see Kyle sat in the back next to me, staring at me intently.

I see his dad peer into the back every now and then, a very exasperated look on his face.

And I feel sorry.

I feel sorry that I had to put them through that

And I feel sorry for myself.

And for everyone.

I'm sorry that I didn't die, and that everybody will have to live on with me wounding them mentally.

I place my head in my hands as Kyle rubs my back.

All I can hear is muffled noises that sound like mumbles and a care engine.

It takes a good few minutes before I snap back to reality.

They say that they want to take me back to theirs, but I don't want that.

For once, I actually want to be in my own house. In my own bed. In the comfort of my own shitty room that looks like a dump.

But it's comforting, in a way.

Because it's all I've ever known and had since the person who I deemed responsible for me died.

I beg to go back to mine.

So they just let me.

...

I notice Randy's car as we pull up.

I thank and apologize to both Gerald and Kyle as they exchange concerned glances, but they drive away as I walk through the door.

Somehow, the house stinks more than I do.

Randy is slumped on the couch (not surprising), and he looks up at me as I shut the door.

He notices my hazed glance immediately.

"Are you fucking cross faded? Again?"

He asks me, although the answer is in plain sight.

"Are you? If you are will you get the same consequences I do?" I answer back, knowing that I can't be the only one who feels like the whole world is burning down around them.

Burning.

Fire.

Burning

Tegridy.

...

Shelley.

...

Mom.

...

Suicide.

It all has a pattern.

It's all connected.

Sometimes you start to notice that about things in life if you care to much.

I stumble back up to my room, prize open the door, head in and collapse on my bedsheets.

.....

I think I know the reason the voice calls me.

It wants me to join the people who I have hurt because of my own selfishness.

As a sort of punishment.

The voice takes your dignity up against your will.

Through everything.

He will wait

Until

You give yourself to him.

And I have a nasty feeling that it won't be long before he calls the name of the worst marsh to live again.

And I have a similar feeling that his voice will be louder this time

And there's nothing I will be able to do to drown him out.