"Perri come on! I wanna see why someone scweamed!"

"We can't leave the house."

"But why not?"

"I... I don't... there could be danger out there."

"Of cwourse there's danger, or else no one would've scweamed!"

"Annie wait! ANNIE COME BACK! ANNIE!"

Percy jerked awake, rolling out of his bed and hitting the floor.

He held his chest, feeling it as it rose and fell rapidly. He hated that dream. Really the only good thing about it was that it never finished itself, so he never had to watch everything else unfold.

Hesitantly he sat up, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. There he sat in silence.

Percy wanted to know why everything hurt so much, but at the same time it felt numb. He wanted to know he could still feel. Needed to know he could feel.

The knife was in his hand before he could stop it. He stared down at it through his blurry-eyed vision. The golden blade seemed to gleam back up at him, reminding him of his own weakness, of all the things he couldn't do or never would be able to. He ran his thumb over the two letters that were just above the guard. 

L.C.

"Hey Percy? Can you do something for me? The knife you always see; I want you to take it from me and keep it when I'm gone." Luke's voice echoed in his mind.

Slowly Percy sheathed the knife before pulling it against his chest, rocking himself back and forth as if that would stop the memory. Not here, not now.

"Don't look so surprised. I know we said we'd fight this together, but... I just have to. I have to find the world that's beyond this misery. There could be a whole life out there that I could be living! Free of pain."

Soon he was dreaming, propped up against the side of his bed, flashbacks passing by his dreams like lightning until his subconscious finally picked one-- worst of all, the one that had turned his life around for a second time, and not in the best direction.

Percy was in a room, a normal bedroom. A bedroom that looked like it would belong to the average 13 year old boy. He turned his head, looking over at a blonde boy with bright blue eyes. In the flashback Percy was only 9, tops.

"I know." the blonde boy sat down on the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, "You probably think I'm crazy right now. Though maybe not...I've had these thoughts before."

Instead of replying Percy simply walked over, sitting next to him cautiously.

"The reason I want you to have the knife..." Luke's voice got incredibly soft, "is not because I want it to remind you of your weakness, but to remind you that I couldn't make it when you could."

In Percy's mind that made no sense. Luke had promised they were gonna stay alive together. When he had tried to jump in front of that car, the person who had given him hope had been Luke. Why would he break his promise? Why would he take away that given hope?

Luke took in a breath. "I'm sorry, Percy."

Percy opened his mouth but Luke stood up.

"I have to break my promise."

Glancing back at the boy Luke walked out of the room. Every step looked like it was painful for him, like he didn't want to leave the young boy, but had to.

Slowly the little boy's head lowered. Maybe he could follow Luke, try to convince him to fight harder. Convince him to stay, even.

But no, he sat there and let his friend walk out. Out of the room, and out of life. Besides, what could a mute boy had done? Nothing. Luke had just hit him with the information, it had been so sudden, so... so surprising.

'Forever' he had said. Ironic how forever can soon become never.

The next night he found out Luke had been serious. He had found the thirteen year old boy in a puddle of his own blood, chuckling softly to himself as if he had told himself a joke.

His eyes flickered up from the blood and to Percy. He lifted a trembling hand, pointing to his inner wrist.

"The wrists." he whispered, "Your ankles. Your neck. All places... all the best." he croaked. "Just cut the correct vein, and it'll all be over."

Percy took a timid step back, staring wide at the bloody slits on Luke's ankles and wrists. Luke had actually done it.

"Aren't you tired of this world?" Luke rasped, laying back against the wall. He opened his mouth to say something but instead his body fell against the cold ground, splattering the blood up from around him.

Biting his lip the mute boy ran towards his friend, ripping the knife from his hands and gripping it with a shaky hand. Luke's fingers weakly reached up, trembling like the simple action was draining his life even faster. The fingers lightly Percy's arm before falling limply to the ground, useless and slack.

Percy stared at the corpse in front of him, choking on the sobs trying to force their way from his throat.

The knife slipped from his grasp and his body collapsed over top his friend's, being taken over by spasms that were followed by sob after sob. He gripped Luke's arm. The last source of whatever family he could ever have-- gone.

Luke had no pulse, there was no warmth in his skin, no light in his eyes, and no more blood running through his veins. Another person that Percy cared about, dead.

'It wasn't supposed to end like this. He wasn't supposed to end like this.'

More tears, more crying, and more shattering.

His mouth opened and he silently screamed his words of mourn into the night, looking up at the sky with anger and sadness alike. Not a sound made it out of his throat, but all of his feelings came flooding out like water from a dam.

'Come back! You all need to come back here right now! You can't leave me here! EITHER COME BACK OR LET ME COME WITH YOU!'

He swallowed, opening his eyes as more tears came. The stars above twinkled, either mourning with him or simply laughing at his suffering.

The knife was in his hand after five seconds of hesitance, and he was gripping it like his life depended on it.

He felt like his soul had just left him, like he was just an empty vessel. For so long... for four years he was able to push the memories of his family down to the bottom of his thoughts. But now? Now they would never leave.

The repeated screams in his head would never go away, the tears would never stop, and the blood would come in an unending stream.

He gripped the handle of the knife so hard his knuckles nearly turned white; and slowly, very steadily, he made his way to his feet, watching as the blood dripped from his clothes. A drop of the crimson liquid ran down his arm, falling to the ground as it ran over his elbow.

It was all too much for the nine year old to take in. All the blood, all the yelling, all the pain.

A forever nightmare.

Song: Running Low by Shawn Mendes