Schizo

I had lost myself, so I tried to look myself up in the encyclopaedia. There was nothing there but blank space, so I put it back on the shelf. I picked up the next book, but it slipped from my hands and shattered into a million tiny glass shards which cut my feet as I ran away. I didn't know why I was running at first. There was no one around me, nothing that could hurt me. Then I realised.

I was running from myself.

I could feel it in the back of my mind; something was wrong. My mind was in two. The normal, everyday part, and the dark part. The dark part was where I stored all the badness and the sadness and the pain. And every so often, it took over. When it did, I wanted to hurt. I wanted to kill. But I was alone, so I turned it on myself. I let the silver stardust flowing around in the still air solidify into the thinnest razorblades. The blood seeped from my wounds in a red trickle that soaked my hands and warmed me slowly. The cuts closed and scarred, but the cuts in my mind just got wider and wider.

I kept hurting myself. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more. Not just my blood. Other people's blood. Everyone's blood. I wanted the roads to run red rivers.

I shattered my blades into stardust and let them become a dagger of sharpest edge. And I set off into the world. Creeping in the dark, living with the bats in attics and belfries. And I took the first one. I didn't know her name. And the next one, I didn't know him either. The third one, her name was Jacey. And the next one was Kerry. I knew them from school. I started to think there was something wrong. But I couldn't stop. There was someone inside my head, that other side of me, and she insisted. She told me I had to. Or she would make me bleed again.

I did as I thought I should. And then she told me to kill my best friend. Victor. It was dark again. He was sitting on the bench in the park, under the lamp post, reading a book. I could see him. I liked him. I said no to her. But she started something in my mind. Images flashed and I couldn't see. I choked on my own throat. I was drowning in pure oxygen...

But then, I could see again. I was fine. And Victor lay on the floor, my dagger in his chest and his blood on the concrete. I said goodbye, and I ran away. I ran so far my legs gave way, but I climbed up. Up and up and up. And then I let go. I jumped.

What if it's better to kill yourself to protect your friends and family from you?