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Johnathan's blood red eyes shot open. His fists, grasping the thick black sheets of his bed as he tried to get back the breath that he lost. Cold sweat dripping down his pale face. He was shaking, uncontrolably. This had been happening more and more these past few days. After calming himself down, he slowly raised himself up to a sitting position. He looked over to his nightstand, to once again see that the picture of his parents had "fallen" durning the night. He peered down, seeing the frame shattered on the white floor. His eyes slowly moved to his crude alarm clock, reading the time. The red lights read Three. He had only gotten found hours of sleep. He threw his heavy covers off of his damp body, and swung his limp legs over the edge of the bed. Pushing himself up, he stepped in the glass from the fallen picture frame. He knew it was there, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel the jagged edges of glass tear into his weak feet. He couldn't feel anything anymore. His entire life was numb. Free from pain and emotion.
Dragging his gouged feet, he walked slowly to the bathroom, leaving a trail of glistening blood behind him. His hand raises, as if almost dead, to grab the doorknob. The bathroom door creaks open as Johnathan stumbles in, slipping on a puddle of his own blood left on the smooth tile. Nearly busting his chin on the cracked porcelin sink, he ctaches himself with his forearms. He pushes his arms down on the sink, lifting his living corpse up. What is this pitiful form he spots in the dusty mirror. It is himself, in all it's doomed glory. Rubbing the palm of his hand on the glass, he wipes away the dust to better see what is before him. He stares into the mirror, seeing the reflection of his own deadened eyes. No life there, just years of pain and anguish. Soon, all the memories of his past return. The pain his family caused. The harsh words of his peers. His own self mudilation during adolesence. It all returns as he clenches his left arm with his right hand, drawring blood with his sharpened nails. Johnathan blinks hard, jerks his head back, and punches the mirror. Eyes still closed, he seems to watch the broken shards of glass fall to the ground, like his life did so long ago. His hand moves down to the moldy basin of the sink, and grabs a piece of the broken refelction. The eyes that were once shut with pain, now open again, showing the world the red of his soul. The hand with the glass slowly begins to move to his face. Johnathan places the tip of the shard under his right eye, and digs it deep into his own flesh as he drags it down. His face shows no pain, no enjoyment, just the same blank stare as he finishes the cut just above his blood chapped lips. He releases the glass, as it hits the floor and shatters once again. Johnathan crosses his blood-stained arms, placing his hands on his shoulders and hugs tight. He lowers his head and watches the blood from his eye fall, like tears from a new born child. Slowly, his body moves backwards. He reaches the bathtub. Rings of blood and mold round the inners of it, where rings of water should be. His head once again tilts back, as he shuts his blank eyes. His bloody body falls back, into the tub of death. The back of his head hits the wall, the same spot it's hit many of times before, causing him to be knocked out. His dark body goes limp, as the blood dripping from the gash on his face seems to stop at the exact same time as the impact between the wall and his head. This is where he will "sleep." For how long? Only he knows.
Time passes. He awakens as calmly as he passed out. His eyes slowly open, reavealing the pain once again. Johnathan begins to get up out of the blackened tub. The gashes on his feet and face now scabbed shut. Dried blood now stains his face where tears once did. Still grogy from his sleep, he drags his heavy body out the bathroom door, and out of his house, wearing the same clothes he wore the night before. The same white t-shirt and black shorts with blood stains from the "accidents" he's had. He shuts the rusted screen door behind him, as if he was shutting out his past from his life. Like the cold blood in his viens, he slowly walks down the dirty sidewalk, shuffling his feet as he moves. His eyes are half closed as he stares straight ahead into the horizen. He walks past his neighbor's houses as he passes his lively peers on the sidewalk. They don't even look at Johnathan. Their eyes see past him, as if he wasn't even there. This bothers him none, because no one has ever seen him. He's always been the person people have not notticed. But he keeps staring, straight ahead. No expression on his face, barely blinking. He coes to a crosswalk, the light is red. "Do not walk." That's what the familiar sign says, but he doesn't care. He continues on his steady pace. Walking straight through the hasty traffic. Never slowing or flinching. He makes it across, safely. As if that mattered. Nothing is safe anymore in his life. Everything is a take on death. By no time he's reached his destination. The old wooden bridge. Where it all almost ended, and where so much began.
A dark shade grows over the old wooden bridge. His form seems to disappera in the blackness. The only thing that was still clearly visible was the white of his eyes. The once dead red eyes that now seemed to have new life. Just the ligh from his eyes seemed to illuminate his face. Johnathan threw his arms out behind him and looked straight to the sky as if he was in great pain. He was smiling. For the first time in years he had actually shown an expression. He shown pleasure. He had decided to end all that was his pitful life. He lowered his face and stepped off the side of the bridge. But his dark body didn't fall. It seemed to slowly rise as a strange light began to shine from behind him. His shirt stretched and soon ripped open to expose 2 divine, white wings. Johnathan stretched his mighty wings, realeasing their magnificant glow. While this was happening, a ground of people started to form around the bridge where this "man" was floating. Johnathan slowly turned around, now facing the people and looked into each of their eyes. Johnathan's body began to vanish from view, and all that could be seen was a white light rising to the sky. That too soon diappeared from all view. The people who had gathered all left speechless, going back to their normal lives, like nothing happened. Johnathan would never been seen again. He had ended it all. His life, as some may call it, was over. Never to be lived again.
Epilouge:
Johnathan wasn't dead, because he never was alive. He wasn't a real person. He was an angel in disguise sent here on a mission. There was one catch. He had no idea of this. To Johnathan, he was a real person. Flesh and blood. He lived life as any other normal human would. His mission was a test. Not for him, but the people around him. A test to see how they would treat someone different, someone weird, someone strange. A test to see how they would treat Johnathan. Would he be accepted? Or would he be shot down, like others before and after him. The test was given, and they failed. The people failed. Mankind failed. Johnathan, as dark and evil as he seemed to be, was the angel. And the people around him? They will all die with hate in their hearts, just how they lived their lives. Take this story and learn from it. The person you pick on, call names, beat up, that person is an angel. Don't die with hate, don't make the mistake those people did. We all know Johnathan, we all ARE Johnathan.
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