She swallowed her throat and it felt dry.
She couldn’t even stand being the witness to a fight.
Much less being in one.
If she saw another person, she felt like she was going to scream again.
Literally, almost.
All she wanted to do was to live the way she wanted and die the way she wanted. As much as she could under the circumstances. And she didn’t really know whether or not she wanted to live anymore.
Not with all these people around.
Part of her selfishly didn’t want to help anybody.
Not when she was alive, at least.
She wanted to think like an utilitarian. She wanted to be able to reduce others to little measurements of happiness and longevity and percentages. She wanted to know who she would die for.
She wanted to think like an empath. She wanted to be able to see and love and talk to other people as if they were both actual people. She wanted to know who she would live for.
Leah couldn’t stop breathing so quickly sometimes.
She fucking hated people. She loved people. But she hated them. She wanted to smother everybody’s capacity for violence. She wanted to be the worst person in the room and do it without shame. She wanted to kill people before they grow to become someone they couldn’t be.
But she was too much of a coward to do it.
She was too selfish to face the consequences.
She was too selfish to live.
She also loved people. She loved them so, so much and she couldn't stop loving them. She couldn't stop putting up masks and acting cute and letting herself be trampled on just to have others feel less shitty than they do. She wanted to spread her love and feel other people loving her.
Leah still didn’t know what to do.
She still didn’t know why she would bother to waste her time on other people.
Maybe she should just forget about everything.
Forget about the book. Throw it away. Tear the pages off.
Forget about her mom. She didn’t want the damage she inflicted to remain in her memories.
Forget about the stupid game. It’s not like it would matter when she died anyways.
Leah wanted love. She wanted adoration. And if she couldn’t get it, she could settle for a room and a life that’s all her’s.
She could almost imagine it. Going to a room and putting a chair in front of the door. She could ask Jewel to play a song- Friday I’m in Love, the one that she recommended- and she could just dance and sing and scream and close her eyes all she wanted to as the sun rises or sets or something like that. She could just sink her head into the pillows and swallow all the pills that she had in her daypack and wait for death to come.
All of the sweet, sweet release from life and none of the injury, huh.
Or, maybe she could approach someone- someone that might actually get 10 kills- and she could just let them shoot her in the head. Quick, painless, and a larger chance that she would end up in a stupid biography or an album or whatever it is that winners create to... to hold on to their fame? To cope? She didn't really know; she's never won SOTF and she never will.
Or maybe she could live.
But was it worth it?
Was it really worth it?
What sort of message would it send?
What sort of reaction would she get?
Why should she even care about reactions?
She swallowed her throat again and forced herself to stop overthinking and start interacting with the voices out of her mind again.
She couldn’t even stand being the witness to a fight.
Much less being in one.
If she saw another person, she felt like she was going to scream again.
Literally, almost.
All she wanted to do was to live the way she wanted and die the way she wanted. As much as she could under the circumstances. And she didn’t really know whether or not she wanted to live anymore.
Not with all these people around.
Part of her selfishly didn’t want to help anybody.
Not when she was alive, at least.
She wanted to think like an utilitarian. She wanted to be able to reduce others to little measurements of happiness and longevity and percentages. She wanted to know who she would die for.
She wanted to think like an empath. She wanted to be able to see and love and talk to other people as if they were both actual people. She wanted to know who she would live for.
Leah couldn’t stop breathing so quickly sometimes.
She fucking hated people. She loved people. But she hated them. She wanted to smother everybody’s capacity for violence. She wanted to be the worst person in the room and do it without shame. She wanted to kill people before they grow to become someone they couldn’t be.
But she was too much of a coward to do it.
She was too selfish to face the consequences.
She was too selfish to live.
She also loved people. She loved them so, so much and she couldn't stop loving them. She couldn't stop putting up masks and acting cute and letting herself be trampled on just to have others feel less shitty than they do. She wanted to spread her love and feel other people loving her.
Leah still didn’t know what to do.
She still didn’t know why she would bother to waste her time on other people.
Maybe she should just forget about everything.
Forget about the book. Throw it away. Tear the pages off.
Forget about her mom. She didn’t want the damage she inflicted to remain in her memories.
Forget about the stupid game. It’s not like it would matter when she died anyways.
Leah wanted love. She wanted adoration. And if she couldn’t get it, she could settle for a room and a life that’s all her’s.
She could almost imagine it. Going to a room and putting a chair in front of the door. She could ask Jewel to play a song- Friday I’m in Love, the one that she recommended- and she could just dance and sing and scream and close her eyes all she wanted to as the sun rises or sets or something like that. She could just sink her head into the pillows and swallow all the pills that she had in her daypack and wait for death to come.
All of the sweet, sweet release from life and none of the injury, huh.
Or, maybe she could approach someone- someone that might actually get 10 kills- and she could just let them shoot her in the head. Quick, painless, and a larger chance that she would end up in a stupid biography or an album or whatever it is that winners create to... to hold on to their fame? To cope? She didn't really know; she's never won SOTF and she never will.
Or maybe she could live.
But was it worth it?
Was it really worth it?
What sort of message would it send?
What sort of reaction would she get?
Why should she even care about reactions?
She swallowed her throat again and forced herself to stop overthinking and start interacting with the voices out of her mind again.