Nobody kills themselves because of mare external influences, but because of the turbulence and imbalance of their interior being.

As they say, death is something utterly disgusting; it's essentially the only obsession that cannot become elating. Even if I wanted to kill myself, I did it with an implicit regret in regards to my desire.

I wanted to die. But I was sorry that I wanted to die.

If I were to be honest, I didn't know why I was alive, and why I didn't cease to exist.

I felt like the most disgustingly horrid being that had ever existed. I felt like an apocalyptic beast engulfed in flames and in darkness, in ardour and in despair. I was an abomination with a grotesque smile, which boiled up inside itself until illusion, and it expanded itself with no end.

I died and grew at the same time, bewitched by all and nothingness, between oblivious hope and the despair of everything, blooming amongst perfume and poison, burnt by love and loathing, perishing under light and darkness.

I was told there are no suicides that come from rational decisions, and none from deep reflections on the worthlessness of the world or the nothingness of life itself.

As I made my way behind the mourning crowd, I couldn't feel Rex's touch anymore.

I was cold.

Coming to the realization of what I had done left me with no use to reason with myself.

Kore was walking in front of me. His scrawny trembling arms held onto his mother's small frame that seemed to have lost any source of strength. Tears rushed down her wrinkled skin, dragging down those deep bruised dark circles that seemed to grow with no end under her eyes. She repeatedly hit her fist against her chest, and sobbed words of despair for the man she loved, whom she'll never see again.

I felt my ribcage pressing against my lungs, tightening around my heart, and I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't feel Rex's hand anymore, nor his embrace.

And then, there it was, right before my eyes, the images of her husband, my hands tainted with his blood. His screams, echoing in my ears.

But I didn't stop.

The stench of dead flesh. Blood. Decay. And wet soil.

Screams.

"My brother is worried for you, you know," said Crassus, and I blinked disoriented when I realized I was inside Rex's tent. "I don't think I am in any position to tell you what to do," he sighed, his jaw tightening. "I know that much. But you don't know what he sacrificed to keep you here."

"What?"

"You don't look well," he remarked, putting down the braided basket he was working on, looking my way. "And I can smell death lingering on you."

"You were right when you said I did all those things."

He paused, and I lost myself again, only coming back to my senses when I heard Crassus' voice once more.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed.

"Are you able to recall things?" I nodded. "That's unfortunate," he admitted. "Some things are better left forgotten."

I could have sworn there was venom on my tongue, and my mind felt like it was being ripped apart.

"Here," he said, handing me a bowl of water. "Drink this...you look very pale. Don't make my baby brother worry too much."

I pushed his hand away, spilling the water over him. His forehead creased, his eyebrows lowering.

"Bloody moon! What is wrong with you, woman?" he grunted, brushing his hand over his garments. "It's just water!"

"It should have been me that died...not all those people." I told him, and I felt pain in my temples.

"Oh, you died alright..." he mumbled, "Now, stop being stubborn, and actually let people help you. It's been days since you ate or drank anything."

He sighed, and brushed a hand through his dark hair, then looking back at me, he added:

"I'll get my brother, maybe, he'll talk some sense into you."

I couldn't stand the thought of myself.

What had I done?

Was there any reason for me to be alive? What was my purpose there? They wouldn't want me there anyways. I was mainly a tool. A faulty one at that. I served my purpose, and brought destruction along with it.

'Murderer,' whispered in my ears. And I dug my hands into the ground, grasping a chunk of soil in my palms. I squeezed my fists tightly, letting the cold press against my skin.

I was alive. But I didn't want to be alive.

I felt the dirt expanding between my fingers. Thin, green Ryegrass sprouted upward, staring back at me. And I felt chills running up and down my spine.

I wasn't sure if I was doing that.

I threw the small sprouts from my hands against the floor and stomped my bare feet onto it.

But to my utter horror, I could feel the earth moving under me. I felt the maggots wriggling through the soil, and the leaves in the trees spoke to me. They whispered through the winds, and the bugs told me stories of the dead.

I shut my eyes tightly and my hands trembled as I wrapped them around myself.

"What is wrong with me?"

I fell to the ground, and crawled towards the side of the tent. Soft touches brushed against my legs, and upon opening my eyes, I saw tall vines wrapping around the walls, thistles raising between the dirt.

"Make it stop..." I mumbled. "MAKE IT STOP!"

Tears sullied my cheeks and dropped onto the ground, and rain started to pour o against the roof of the residence.

"Please...make it stop..." I cried, and my eyes wondered to the place where Crassus was a few moments ago.

Next to the unfinished basket and the twigs that were now swamped by grass, was a knife.

I held my breath and I swallowed uncomfortably.

There are no suicides that come from rational decisions. I didn't know why I was alive, and why I didn't cease to exist.

I felt the cold metal press against my jugular, and my skin felt warmer as the red covered it.

I wanted to die, but I did it with an implicit regret in regards to my desire.

Rex's voice echoed in my ears, as I recalled the very first thing he ever said to me.

"I want you to be happy," I remembered. "I truly want that for you."

My body hit the ground, and the grass roughed against my back, as my vision blurred in front of me.

Death is something utterly disgusting; I thought to myself. It's essentially the only obsession that cannot become elating.

I couldn't feel the pain for the first time in a while, the only thing I could feel were a pair of arms holding me tightly.

"Don't..." a deep hazy voice ringed in my ears, and I struggled to open my eyes.

Paralyzing sensations persisted to dominate against my will, clouding my judgement, and I could feel blood dripping from the tips of my fingers. Warm rough hands brushed against my forehead, and that familiar pair of mismatched eyes gazed down on me.

"Don't die," he cried. "Please don't die."