Okay, I originally wrote this as a personal story to help me through a tough time, then realized it could work ~~with a little tweaking~~ as a piece for the challenge.

Yeah, there are a few open ends. No, it's not Duo. He's always getting the bum wrap, so I gave him a break. But read what you like, think what you like. If you want the original version, mail me and I'll send it. I also have no problem with any questions.

Big thanks to ClarySage. :)

Standard Disclaimers: They aren't mine and they never will be in my waking hours. Which is why I love them when I dream. :) It's edgey, it's sad, and it's about suicide. If that bugs you, don't read it. Thanks :)

**voice of character**
"voices of crowd, you'll get it later"

 

~~~~~Gundam Wing Red Rain~~~~~
--Ryjaan

 

It was rain. No…a river. Drip by drop, pooling and speeding on its way to the floor. Vaguely he thought about the mess he was making before quickly banishing the thought to the Netherlands. They won’t be so worried about the carpet, he said to himself. Though that thought brought out the memory of the people he was leaving behind, drop by drip. Angrily he hissed at his weakness and pressed a hand tight to the side of his wrist. The drips sped up to a dribble to a trickle, and he smiled in satisfaction.

“When people die, do they feel pain?”

**No,** he said to the voices surrounding him. **I feel nothing. I am free, for the first time. No hurt, no anger, no sadness. It’s all washing out of me.**

“What will your friends say?”

Again he hissed. **They’re always telling me to do what I feel I should, what I need to do. This feels right; this is what I should do.** There were a few dubious glances from the crowd, but he ignored them.

The drops began to slow again, back to a simple drumbeat. The pressure that had sped them up was now clotting the wound. That brought a bit of awareness around, and as he looked up he saw the face of one of his friends. The blond boy was crying.

**What’s wrong?**

“How could you? I was here, why didn’t you come to me?” The boy's face swam drunkenly for a moment before morphing into another friend. Long dark hair flashed around his face as he twirled to face his friend.

“You are not doing this!” he shrieked. Then vanished.

Drip…drip… The lone boy looked down at his wrist. It had all but stopped, already drying on his palm. **It’s not supposed to hurt,** he chanted to himself as tears sprang behind his eyes. With a stifled yelp of self-hatred he wrenched the knife out of the chair and hit the wound again. The red liquid jumped out, again a river, again a waterfall. It mingled with his tears on the floor and he made no move to stop it.

“Why are you doing this?” a calm tenor voice murmured just outside of his vision. Startled, he jerked his head back up and surveyed the small room. Moving to get up he fell back as a wave of dizziness crashed through his skull. Now his wrist, prone above his head, dripped the drops onto his face. Awestruck, he watched the drops that fell, drip by dribble, dribble by rain from his wrist to his cheek.

The tenor voice murmured his name, distracting him from the view once again. “Why are you doing this?”

**You’re horrible at impersonations,** he muttered. **Even if there was a god, I’m sure he’s a bass.**

A quiet chuckle echoed through the room. “Life can’t be too bad if you can still crack a joke.” Annoyingly, he remained strictly outside of his clouding vision.

A sharp pain ricocheted up his arm and he winced, startled at the sudden ache. **Death doesn’t hurt!** he hissed.

“But this isn’t death, at least not yet.” The dark-haired owner of the masculine voice walked into his field of vision. “This is just the prelude.”

**Go away.**

“Why?”

**I can’t fight you. This isn’t fair.**

“You always tell me life’s not fair, with a joke and a smile, when I
say
that.” The voice faded, but the smile behind it remained.

“Why are you doing this?” the tenor returned.

**Go away!**

“How could you!” another voice echoed.

“We were here!”

“Why are you doing this?”

**Get out of my head!**

“Why?”

“How could you!”

More faces swam in front of him, some accusatory, some sad. Some cried, some turned their backs on him. He saw his friends and people he’d met at school. His customary companion swirled viciously before vanishing, followed other people he had encountered, one by three. The young boy from so long ago walked up to him and sat at his feet. The voices and faces echoed and combusted against each other until he screamed and jerked upright.

In an instant they were all gone. All save the boy, watching him passively.

**I want this!**

“Who are you trying to convince?” the boy asked in an all-to-familiar tenor voice that did not fit the body.

**Leave me alone. I tried, don’t you understand? I tried! It didn’t work!**

The boy lazily flicked invisible lint off of his coat. “What do you want?”

**Silence,** he moaned. **Stillness.**

Disdainfully, the boy put his foot down just outside of the growing red pool. “This will help?” Mutely, he nodded. “Are you sure?”

**Shut up!** His temper seemed to be draining with each drop.

“As long as you’re sure. Y’know, ending one’s life is a big decision.” Before he could answer, the boy disappeared.

The silence built up again, cloaking him in a fuzzy feeling of warmth. His eyes drifted shut and his head began to fall forward. Perhaps the time had finally come. Maybe now he would get his peace. The smile he sought wouldn’t come. Behind his closed lids he saw the boy and heard the voices. His hand became uncomfortably hot and a silent scream built up in his throat. Part of him was shouting that this was crazy, insane even, but he wouldn’t listen. Raising his bloody palm, he squashed the sounds and succumbed to the silence.

“No! Oh gods! No, please, no!”

Vaguely, he looked up. He stood up. The blood was gone from his body and he felt light. Curiously, he looked around and saw what had initiated the screams. He saw himself, hunched over on the floor, palm outspread and still bleeding. In the doorway was the blond figure of a friend whose hysterical shrieks were quickly attracting a crowd. A dark haired boy darted in, wide-eyed and stiff with fear, to touch the still figure’s shoulder. Sounds began to fade, though he could still see the dark haired boy mouthing out his name, calling to his still body, and snapping for someone to get some help.

The body on the floor slumped bonelessly to the ground and the soft tenor screamed. The scene was fading, and he fought that. **What’s happening? Come back! Let me see!** But it was gone, and the blackness swallowed him up into thrumming silence and heartache.

~~~End~~~

Okay. Yeah... :) Is it good? Probably loaded with mistakes, but that' me.

I don't have many beta readers and I write too much to fast to catch everything. It might help if Pyro weren't constantly chucking candles at my roommate's head, but that's wishful thinking, ne?

So, hope you enjoyed, though that may be an interesting word to use on a death/suicide/depressed and watching my wrist too much//fanfic.

Arigato!
Ryja