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It was April twentieth, twenty-twenty.
Yoshiki had cracked open the door to his room, stepping in within a matter of moments. What was laid out on his desk was: a pen, a pill, and some paper. He was, at the moment, wasted out of his mind and walking funny. If someone had asked, he probably couldn’t even walk in a straight line.
One day, maybe he could end up like Jim Morrison. Yoshiki hadn’t been doing well, mentally, as of the moment. He had the slight urge to call ‘Hikaru’ and spill whatever he was going to try and say yet didn’t. At some point, he wanted to try and be a rockstar, you know, the average start substances and die from it. It’s not a great life to live but still a life after all. He was planning to get famous then overdose, of course, he’d forgotten the get famous step though.
Yoshiki stumbled over to his desk then sat down. In a blink, his life could be over. All he really needed was to actually take the pills. Live up life while you can, he thought, since my life is about to be over anyway.
Taking the pill bottle, Yoshiki opened it shakily. He hadn’t exactly decided what he wanted to think happened after death, but he decided on ending up in the same place Hikaru– the original Hikaru– was in. He’d been destroying the natural world letting ‘Hikaru’ stay afterall. Yoshiki didn’t want to even touch on the fact his best friend’s body was being used as a puppet; simply ignoring it.
Yoshiki dumped around 30 pills into his hand, staring at the last thing he’d ever see. He wanted the first thing he’d see when waking up on the other end of the stick to be the real Hikaru, not the monster overtaking the poor thing’s body.
Yoshiki was longing to be someone he’s not, an inspiration, a different soul, a normal person, not the monster that he saw himself as. His feelings had been dulled since, not so coincidentally, ‘Hikaru’ appeared. He was losing passion to live ever since losing his real best friend. If he was being honest with himself, Yoshiki couldn’t help but at least love the new ‘Hikaru’ a little bit, even though it was just a skin wearing anomaly.
He somewhat wanted to try and kill this new ‘Hikaru’ with a switchblade, since it would have to leave so many more scars and be far more painful than just shooting the entity dead. If he were to, he’d probably be far more remembered anyway. Despite their deaths nobody remembers the victims, only the killers. Yoshiki felt as though he needed to be remembered, no matter what. It was actually a part of a larger fear of his, dying lonely and unrecognized for absolutely anything.
Yoshiki shifted over and reached to the side of his desk where a bottle of whiskey sat. He grabbed it and put it on top of his desk, nearly regretting it in the process. Yoshiki put around ten of the thirty pills he’d pulled out into his mouth then poured whiskey straight from the bottle in the same spot. He swallowed the pills with the whiskey, coughing after. It was a surreal feeling. After all, Yoshiki had been debating it for a while and didn’t go through with it until then.
He took another swig from the bottle before putting the rest of the pills in his mouth. Nobody had to know he was doing this, not even someone– no, something, he can’t decipher between friends and a soul stealing monster. Yoshiki felt as though after he’d died from this he could possibly be remembered for something, even just for a split second.
He picked up the pen on his desk, scrambling to write something about how somebody should write something about him, even if it was a sad song or a cliché poem. That was the last thing he ever wrote.
Yoshiki slumped over onto his pillow he’d thrown out across the floor hours earlier, dark hair hitting it and the floor like a bullet. He didn’t mean for it to be so strategically placed but it just so happened like that. All the blinds in his room were shut and it was deathly dark out, the only thing truly visible was Yoshiki himself.
He didn’t want to die on the floor but he believed it was better than dying while having someone hold him and try to comfort him through it. Yoshiki truly thought that it was pitiful dying alone but also right next to someone, so he chose the middle of those two options. Two wrongs make a right, right?
He wouldn’t even remember this after death, so it wouldn’t matter. Nothing matters once someone dies, not even the final words that they’d spoken. Only the living cling onto death, and that’s what Yoshiki had been doing with Hikaru. He had seen Hikaru’s dead body but Hikaru didn’t ever see or hear Yoshiki’s reaction to it.
Yoshiki wished he’d die faster; wished he could be with his best friend again, but nothing ever happens as someone wants it to, there's always a bump in the road. Maybe ‘Hikaru’ would run in and bawl his eyes out at the sight, or maybe Yoshiki would realize life is worse than he’d expected and that he should’ve done this sooner, but neither happened.
Yoshiki just laid there half dead and fully silent. He’d forgotten to cut himself one final time before trying to kill himself so he’d attempt to do it now.
Shuffling to grab the box cutter that laid on his desk, Yoshiki knocked it against his chest. The blood would probably help him die faster. He picked up the sharp object and fumbled to slide it open, having his perception of what was happening dulled.
Yoshiki swiped the blade at his wrist. He watched as the white line turned red and prickled up. It was blood for sure and Yoshiki kind of wanted a taste of it. His eyes tore themselves to the side as he swiped again, looking at a gift Hikaru had given him years prior.
Just then, his vision turned black at the edges and got blurry. He was lightheaded but kept swiping. The crimson leaking from his wrists was only a motivator to die. He wouldn’t even regret this in the morning as unlike usual, since he wouldn’t be alive to feel the sting tomorrow. And just as Yoshiki had always wanted, he fainted. He fainted and didn’t ever wake up. His life was finally over and it was his own fault.