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|Ƈнαρтєя Oηє|

Author's Note: Hey, guys. I decided to write this story, because I've been feeling. . . kind of sad lately. So, enjoy. :)

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Sσηιc'ѕ Ƥ.O.Ʋ

Depression.

Something that all of us frequently go through. But unlike most, some go through this period of sadness every day, every week, every month, every year. Me? I just started feeling this way when I was about four years old.

My mother abandoned me, leaving me with my cruel, sick new foster family. My foster dad would abuse me, neglect me, tell me what to do all the time, you name it. My siblings, Sonia and Manic, were never able to help me, since they lived in other families.

My foster mom didn't bother to care for me. She only cared for her son. That's when I was nine, I snapped. I went insane, and started hearing voices telling me that I wasn't worth it. So, I grabbed a pair of scissors and carved these words into my bedroom wall:

Why leave me alone to die, when there's always a shadow following by my side?

It's September already, so my birthday was just a few months ago back in July. Everyone forgot about me. Everyone didn't bother to show up at my house. Everyone but one just abandoned me.

Again.

I've decided to change my personality, my attitude, my style, etc. I used to be known as the hero of Mobius. But now, I'm much different. No, I'm far from different. I've gone emo, which kind of surprised some of my friends. Wait, silly me. I have no friends, except one. The rest all just left me long ago.

My friendships changed, along with my interests. I used to obsess over being the fastest thing alive. I was a hypocrite when I was a kid. Now I'm just that emo, hoodie wearing, razor wielding boy, listening to bands like Scary Kids Scaring Kids, Three Days Grace, and anything that screams "FUCK YOU" right in my ears.

I sighed, watching the sun set from my dark and frigid bedroom window. It was very hot in my room, even if I was wearing my favorite hoodie, sweat pants and fake thick - rimmed glasses. One of my closest and best friends, Logan, is the only one there to save me. He can repair my wounded heart, and my bruised wrists.

Except, Peter and I got into a huge argument last week about my overdosing, my self - harming, my lack of sleep, you name it. He's really a considerate guy, it's just he takes it too far sometimes. And ever since then, he hasn't said a word to me.

At all.

Although he isn't around as much anymore, he's still in one of the remaining pieces of my heart. My heart can't take it anymore, though. I'm tired of people coming and going away from me. First, it was Amy, my ex-girlfriend, then my best friend, Tails. And now, I can guarantee that Logan will leave me one day. I sighed once again, rolling up my hoodie sleeves. Everywhere I looked, I'd see smudged Sharpie writing on my arms and legs, as well as the cuts coming from my shoulder, to my wrist, and my knees to my legs. Everyday, I count all of the cuts.

Oh yeah, you know how people say count sheep so you can sleep? I never did that. I count my wounds. I count how many times my heart was broken. I count how many days I've survived this living hell. I count how many days until my death. "Twelve." I whispered. "Twelve days until my life will end." I remembered getting some rope from my backyard, and I already tied it to a tree. I want to say goodbye to everyone the day before I go up to Heaven, to see if God really loves me. To see if He will judge me.

I decided to go outside and take a walk to McDonald's, just to visit Logan. I don't eat anymore, but I know that he works there. I quickly searched for my iPod, until I remembered: I left it in the drawer with my pills. I open the drawer and rummage through the empty pill containers. I never bothered to refill them, because why bother? My doctor said I was going to die anyways.

Finally, I found my iPod. I also go through my hoodie pocket and take a pair of headphones out. I plug them into my iPod, and turn the volume to 100%. Like I give a flying fuck that I'll have hearing damage. My favorite song, Her Last Words by Courtney Parker, was the first song on my playlist.

Just before I was about to head out, I heard a knock at my door. I pause my music, and head to the door to open it. "Who is it?" I asked. "Just open the door, Blue." I recognized that calm, kuudere Australian accent. It was Scourge, my counterpart and one of my rivals. I unlocked the door, as Scourge walked over to me. "How come you haven't been out of your house?" Scourge asked, looking into my emerald green eyes. "It's nothing," I replied, faking a smile.

"You sure? You look. . . awful, to be honest." I looked at my very thin body, my wounds and my strange clothing. "So?" Scourge rolled his eyes, "Okay, then. Wanna head to McDonald's? Peter's working there. I'll pay."

I shook my head, "No. I'm not hungry, plus I want to go by myself." I pushed Scourge out of my way and walk slowly down my street. My iPod was blasting music, probably loud enough for me to develop hearing problems. I don't really care. As long as I'm away from people like Scourge, I'll be perfectly fine.

I felt like Scourge was following, but I didn't even bother to look back. I finally walked into the McDonald's, where I could see a dark brown hedgehog boy with coal black eyes. He was wearing a baseball cap, a hoodie similar to mine and black Crocs shoes. "Hey." I mumbled. Logan looked up at me. "Hey, Sonic." He murmured, walking over to me.

"Um. . . I want to apologize for being an idiot to you last week," Logan began, before I could speak, "and I want to help you with your problems. Please, just tell me what's wrong, Sonic." He rested a hand on my shoulder. I shook my head. "Logan, if I told you what was going on, you wouldn't want to be my friend."

"Sonic," the Italian hedgehog muttered, "are you thinking about your family again?" I nodded, trying to hold back the tears. But I couldn't. They started to flood down my cheeks, dripping onto my hoodie sleeve as I try to dry my eyes.

I refused to cry in public, especially around Logan. Logan held my hand, "Let's go out back to talk." He said, leading me out of the restaurant and into the back. I have a bad feeling about this. . .

|Ƈнαρтєя Ƭωσ|

Sσηιc'ѕ Ƥ.O.Ʋ

When Logan lead me to the back of the building, he looked at me straight in the eyes. "Sonic," he whispered, "tell me what's wrong." I shook my head, trying to clear up the horrifying images of my foster family out of my head.

"I can read thoughts," said Logan, "and if you're thinking about your past, let it go. You live on your own, so you have freedoms that you didn't have when you were younger."

I nod, "Yeah, but I always have nightmares of my foster family. I remember my foster brother beating me up everyday. I remember my half-mother, discouraging me and neglecting me. And my half-father. . . " I stopped right there. I couldn't remember if I even HAD a father. Logan shook his head. "Show me your scars."

I rolled both my hoodie sleeves up, showing my best friend all the wounds on my arms. "Show me your scars." Logan said again, pointing to my legs. I sighed, rolling up my sweatpants. Some of my cuts were bleeding.

Logan dug into his pocket and handed me a Kleenex. "Wipe the blood off." He instructed calmly. I took the tissue and began wiping away the blood. I winced in pain. "It hurts. . ." I whispered. "I know how you feel." Logan said. "Everyone knows how you feel." I shook my head, "Scourge pretends to care."

"If he was pretending, I wouldn't watch him walking to your house everyday. He lives pretty far, probably in Clairton." I nodded, but sighed, "I live in a small borough around Pittsburgh, which really is a good forty to fifty minute drive. I'm not sure about walking distance."

"You never know." Logan and I both looked at my cuts once again. I wiped a bleeding cut on my arm with my Kleenex. "Let's go inside. It's getting cold out." Logan murmured, before walking through the back door of the McDonald's. I wasn't allowed back there, so I had to go through the front door, obviously.

When I walked back inside, Logan was cleaning up the counter. "It's almost midnight." He told me, "Want me to walk you home?" I nodded, "Please. . ." When Logan finished, he waved goodbye to his co-workers and walked out the door, me following behind.

It was pretty dark when Logan and I walked down the streets. The streetlights were dim, not too bright, though. "So, what did you do all day?" Logan asked, breaking the unnatural silence. "Were you sleeping again?" He asked.

"Yeah," I murmured, "I was dreaming of my foster-family again." Logan sighed, as he shook his head. "Of course you were. You never have good dreams. Always nightmares."

"You're right." I replied sarcastically, "I never have good dreams. All of my hopes, dreams and desires have been crushed by the force of depression."

"Dude, don't say that." Logan's hand rested on my shoulder once again. I winced in pain, since some of my cuts were there. "Oh, sorry." Logan pulled his hand away. "No . . . It's fine." I fake smiled. "Alright, bro."

We continued down the street, quietly as usual. I took my phone out. It was close to midnight, of course. "My house is over here," I said. Logan nods, "Alright, see you later." Logan smiled, walking down the street.

I finally got inside my house, tired. I closed the door, locking it, and went straight to my room. It was a beautiful night, though. I wanted to go stargazing, but there's nobody to go with. Logan went home, I have no idea where Scourge is, and everyone else is asleep, having dreams of happiness and all that.

I change into one of my long-sleeved shirts and sweatpants, then got into bed. I tried to go to sleep, but my mind was clogged up with flashbacks, memories that I want to erase, you name it.

Normally, I can't sleep without my medicine. But I didn't want to take it, because the last time I took my medicine, I had to call Scourge to supervise me so I wouldn't overdose.

I sighed. I have so many horrifying memories in my head. I just sometimes wish I could fall asleep and never wake up. . .

~ Short While Later ~

I woke up to my stupid phone ringing. It was four AM. 'Who the hell is up at this time?!' I thought, irritated by the constant ringing.

I finally picked it up and answered. "Who is this?" I asked. "Faker. Hey. . ." I recognized that soft voice. "Shadow, it's four AM! Why're you calling me?!" Shadow sighed, "Well, Scourge told me you've been having. . . problems."

"What's it to you? Everyone hates me, because of my 'problems!' Why do you care?"

"Faker, just unlock the door." Shadow hung up. 'Say what?' I shrugged, walking downstairs. I made sure that my clothes covered my wounds, so Shadow wouldn't notice.

I unlock the door and open it. Shadow was standing there, along with Logan. "Did you take your medicine?" Logan asked. "Yeah," I lied, "I did." Shadow shook his head, "I just called to see if you were awake."

"It's four in the freaking morniiiiiing!" I whined, "Only some weirdo would be up at this time!"

"Like you?" Logan and Shadow said at the same time. "Staaaaahp!"I whined playfully. "You're weird!"

"Nah, I'm unique. And he's emo." Logan points to Shadow. Shadow just rolled his blood red eyes. I stopped laughing at what Logan said.

Then I slammed the door.

|Ƈнαρтєя Ƭняєє|

Scσυяgє'ѕ Ƥ.O.Ʋ

Sonic may be depressed, but he's a really good person inside. He told me that a voice in his head told him to hurt himself. But he also said that his foster - parents made him hurt himself. I remember his quote he said to me when we were young: "Why leave me alone to die, when there's always a shadow following by my side?"

I've actually wondered that myself. My mother was pretty abusive, too. Except not towards me. She treated me as if I was a prince or something. I enjoyed that feeling, until I eventually grew up and learned that I can't get whatever I want without a reason. I finally learned, after all of those years.

I sighed, laying on my bed, playing on my iPod, while listening to the song, "Too Late" by Dead By April. I started to sing to the lyrics, although I suck at singing. But I don't care, anyways.

"I've been running all night long
And the pulse is pounding in my chest
Now I am here
There are feelings that I just must express

Open for me
I am standing outside your door
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late
Open for me
Cannot wait out here anymore
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late

Gotta get this out my system
I've gathered my strength
Ripped my blindfold off I'm ready now
I have stayed in the dark with my mind switched off

Open for me
I am standing outside your door
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late
Open for me (Open for me)
Cannot wait out here anymore
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late

I don't wanna be
Out here on my own
I don't wanna be
Outside in the cold
I don't wanna be
Completely alone
I just wanna be
Right where I belong

Uuuuuhhhhhhhhhh

Open for me
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late

Open for me
I am standing outside your door
Whatever you say
Don't say it's too late
Open for me!
Cannot wait out here anymore
Whatever you say!
Don't say it's too late!!"

When the song ended, I started to cry a little. The song, for some reason, reminded me of Sonic, and his past, his problems. . . and maybe even my past. I checked the time on my iPod. It was 4:30 AM. I should be asleep, but I can't. My thoughts are all clogged up, my anxiety is really, really bad, and I'm really dizzy.

I forgot to take my medicine again, accidentally on purpose. Yeah, I have mitochondrial disease, but it's a part of my medical issues. I really don't want to get in full detail, to be honest, but you get the point. I'm a fucked up guy.

I wanted to call Blue - I mean - Sonic, and check up on him. I remembered yesterday when he shoved me out of the way, to walk away from me. He didn't want anything to do with me.

Just before Sonic left the lot, I whispered to myself,

"Am I a sick person?"

I bet Sonic isn't awake at this time. But if he is, I might as well give it a shot. I look around my dark room for my phone. I'm pretty forgetful, so I forgot where I put it.

"Damn it!" I cursed, trying to turn my light on. But of course I fell down, because I got dizzy from getting up to quickly, and I almost passed out.

Almost.

"Shit!!" I sighed, trying to get up. "Stupid disease, stupid medical problems. . . Why can't I just end these issues and live life?" When I got diagnosed with mito when I was twelve, I asked the same thing. 'Why do I have to be one of the millions suffering?' I thought, getting off the floor.

I looked around my spotless room. I spent about two hours, organizing my bookshelf, my video games, you name it. Not only do I have mito, I also have OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and a little bit of ADHD. It's embarrassing to talk about, but you get the point: I'm another one of those people.

I open the door to my bedroom, and walk over to the kitchen, where my home phone is. It was dark and cold as hell in my house, but I didn't care. I use my iPod flashlight and shine it around the room. I finally found the lightswitch, so I turned it on.

A flood of light filled the entire room. I sighed, because the bright lights usually gave me a migraine. I normally get those. It sucks, you know?

Anyways, I reach for my home phone, and grab it. I was about to dial Sonic's number, but something stopped me. I don't know what.

All of a sudden, I started to cry. A couple tears flooded down from my eyes to my muzzle. I closed my lazuli blue eyes, and dropped the phone.

"Leave a message, please." The phone said as it fell to the floor. I picked it up, and started to talk. Well, stutter, actually. . .

"S-Sonic. . . hey. . . c-can you meet me at my house l-later on some time? I'm g-getting sicker as we speak. . . goodbye." I hung the phone up, and fell to the floor. 'I'm sick of being sick. . .' I thought as the world around me faded away. . .

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.08.2015

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