Work Text:
Curse the world for letting me live, curse the world for giving me another chance.
I jumped over a truck in my last life, it was terrifying yet I yearn for the pain. I can hear and feel my bones breaking—it reminds me of the vegetables I cut in the kitchen this morning. I don’t know where exactly am I bleeding from, red sparks of liquid is flowing out of my body from different places, it’s hard to pinpoint the location. Or maybe not just a location, more than one location.
It hurts like a bitch, the pain immobilize me from moving any of my body parts, even my eyes won’t blink to prevent my blood from getting in contact of my eyeballs. The truck driver escaped, leaving my half dead body lying in front of the truck—left to die.
It’s cold, so cold. It feels like I’m naked on top of a snow pile. I heard that deaths are supposed to be cold
I’m dying.
I wonder,
What is that my mother is doing at the moment? Is she sweeping the floor like she used to do in this hour? Or is she simply waiting for me to bring back the groceries she asked me to buy?
Mother, I hope that someday you will be able to forgive yourself about my death, perhaps in another life—I would be able to come home, and we will cook dinner together, eat and clean after that.
I remember that one rainy day, I locked myself inside of my bedroom—It’s dark and cold. My room does not have a fireplace, the only way of heating myself is to light up a candle and sleep close to it. My eyes were blurry, it’s swollen from my midnight tears. I heard the news about my Father’s death this morning, I was in great denial.
It was a carriage incident. I asked my Father for a new paintbrush I saw on display in the city, It was beautiful—and quite cheap for something so good quality. My father promised me to buy it when he goes there for work.
He never came back, right?
It’s all your fault.
He didn’t bring back your paintbrush.
My stomach turns whenever I think about it, like a twisted memory carved inside. It makes me vomit from thinking of the gruesome scene— why can’t I let go of the thought?
My throat is dry, my mouth tastes metallic from the taste of blood—my blood from my bleeding lip, I bit too hard again. It feels like bliss, pain has never felt so good. I bit again, the pressure on my lips causing more pain second by second.
I felt numb, numb from everything. Who is Kaveh? Who am I to myself?
I staggered out of bed, tripping over my falling sheets as I fall pitifully.
I scoffed,
.
.
.
Kaveh picked himself up, his right knee all bruised up and red from the fall, half of his sheets are on the floor, the cause of his fall. The fabric was stained with some of Kaveh’s blood tripping from his lip.
Ah,
Kaveh scattered his drawers, trying to find a sharp object to get his grasp on. It’s a dumb decision, very. But Kaveh is known for his desperate personality, he will do anything to numb some of his pain. Because Kaveh is stupid, whenever a slight problem occurs—he will forget who he is and what does he want to do, he feels like a failure and self destructs himself as a punishment. That is something that others don’t like about him.
Whenever his plans go accordingly, he will be okay. More than okay perhaps, he will be happy—the happiest person anyone will encounter in their life. But if things go south, people won’t recognize Kaveh as “ Kaveh “. The Kaveh that is happy—the Kaveh whenever things are going straight.
…
Kaveh finds a cutter, a cutter that he used to use to cut paper for his architectural projects. He takes it, snapping the blade into two, one without the handle and one with the handle. Kaveh discards the one with the handle, throwing it in the trashcan while he clutches the bare blade.
Bleeds
Bleeds
Bleeds
He can’t let it go, why can’t he let it go?
He froze, staring as his blood trickled and flow down from his hands to his arms.
It hurts
It hurts
It hurts
It hurts
Kaveh can’t let go the blade
Why?why?why?why?why?
He tries to let go of the blade, yet instead he clutches it harder
It hurts.
The bleeding won’t stop.
His hand is shaking.
Kaveh let go of the blade.
Kaveh
Let go
It hurts.
Who is Kaveh? Who is that man?
.
.
.
My father was a good person, he’s a good dad and an amazing husband for my mother. He smiles and jokes around, works hard to fulfill all our little family’s needs, while still sparing the time for us.
Now no one is my Father,
My Father is dead
I stopped painting and creating sketches after that, it’s a waste of money anyway. Now I have to find a job, replacing my Father a the head of the house and take care of my Mother. It all happened so fast, thankfully I was given time to search for a job from my Father’s stash of mora that we used to keep for emergencies.
I dropped out of school, got a job and now is working minimum wage to help my Mother and I. I am thankful enough that I do not have any siblings, I never imagine how hard it is for them in this situation.
I forgot my dreams, what I used to hold so dear of.
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
It’s all my fault
…
A dove, a simple bird who flew past by.
Kaveh lays half dead on the side of the road.
It’s night time, around eight.
It’s been three minutes after the crash happened.
Yet it felt like he had just viewed his life minute by minute.
It’s sad,
Kaveh can cry now
Kaveh won’t have to pretend to be strong anymore
Kaveh is weak, but that is okay.
Because now Kaveh can rest.