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Description
A hint of deep blue crept into the blackness. Xavior felt the frigid caress of water against his face and in his black hair. Suspended deep in the ocean, he felt himself continue to sink, further down into the abyss. His consciousness grew weaker as he descended, and all feeling was drifting away.
Further.
Deeper.
In the iridescent blue, Xavior heard a voice. It was unfamiliar and unclear, but with it came a vague tingling all over his body, focused on his chest. The voice continued, repeating, getting clearer, closer. With every repetition, the tingling evolved more into a painful shock.
“Clear!”
Xavior heard the word and the pain was instantaneous. The water began to rush against his body as he started to float upwards.
“Clear!”
Suddenly a hand gripped his body and began pulling him violently to the surface, the blue getting brigher and brighter. Xavior’s head spun as his body pulsed.
At once, his eyes were open, and all the blue was washed out by bright white lights. Xavior felt himself vomiting and retching on a cold, hard surface.
Everywhere he looked there were painful bright lights, and when he closed his eyes, all he could hear was a loud buzz pummeling his eardrums. This noise and chaos continued for a long time, but slowly reduced itself into information that Xavior could comprehend.
He opened his eyes again and took in the awful truth of his surroundings. White walls, stale air, men and women in green scrubs. Xavior was in a hospital, and that meant one thing: he was still alive.

“Why?” he choked out. A few nurses and doctors gathered at his side.
“Don’t try to speak, just rest.” Coaxed one of them.
“Why?” Xavior said, yelling this time, “Why the hell didn’t it work!?”
“Mr. Bentley, you consumed a very dangerous amount of tranquilizers, but luckily someone found you in time. You’ve escaped death very narrowly.”
I didn’t want to escape it narrowly, he thought, I wanted to greet it head on!
“Fuck!” He yelled, and closed his eyes so tight he saw stars, hoping to squeeze out reality once and for all.
“Do you know how many of those things I took? Almost a whole fuckin’ bottle!”
“Guess it wasn’t your time,” said one of the doctors.
I just can’t get anything right, can I?
Furious, he began to rip the tubes and wires from his body. He couldn’t feel them tearing his skin. The doctors struggled to hold him down as he writhed about on the table.
Despite his efforts, he was subdued. Losing blood and over-exerting himself, Xavior lost consciousness.

When lights and sounds returned again, Xavior was in a much more relaxed state. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry about his failed self-termination. Instead, he simply watched the doctors move about in almost liquid-like movement. Their voices floated to his ears and made soft noises inside his head.
Just then two men in suits walked into the room and began talking to one of the doctors. They spoke quickly and firmly, their voices slicing through the air instead of floating. Xavior stared at them and breathed deeply through the tube that had been inserted into his windpipe.
The men walked over to Xavior. The blonde one spoke first.
“Xavior, you are a very sick boy,” he spoke the words as if from a script; “we’d like to help you.”
“We can take you to a place where there are more people that can help you,” said the second, less blonde man, “how would you like that?”
Xavior stared at the men, only blinking. The blonder man spoke to the doctors and ushered them out of the room. When they were gone, the two men stood by Xavior’s side. They stared at him for a moment before moving to opposite ends of the bed.
One of them pulled out Xavior’s breathing tube less than gently, creating a pain that slid up and down his throat like claws ripping through him. When the tube was out, the man muffled Xavior’s screams of agony. The second man ripped the tubes and wires from Xavior’s body. When two nurses came in to see what was the matter, the man nearest to the door produced a weapon resembling a small radio dish, and when he pointed it at the nurses, they collapsed.
His vision giving in to spots of blackness, Xavior struggled to get free of the man’s grasp, but he had no control over his muscles. The men slung him into a wheelchair and began to shove him out the door and down a hallway.
In the parking lot, the vehicle they dumped Xavior into was not an ambulance. It was a black van with padded walls and a thick plate of glass dividing the front from the back. Xavior hit the floor hard his backpack landed with a crash near his lifeless legs.
Something swelled within Xavior’s body, and just when he thought he was going to be sick, he blacked out once more. The last thing he heard was an explosion.

Description
A hint of deep blue crept into the blackness. Xavior felt the frigid caress of water against his face and in his black hair. Suspended deep in the ocean, he felt himself continue to sink, further down into the abyss. His consciousness grew weaker as he descended, and all feeling was drifting away.
Further.
Deeper.
In the iridescent blue, Xavior heard a voice. It was unfamiliar and unclear, but with it came a vague tingling all over his body, focused on his chest. The voice continued, repeating, getting clearer, closer. With every repetition, the tingling evolved more into a painful shock.
“Clear!”
Xavior heard the word and the pain was instantaneous. The water began to rush against his body as he started to float upwards.
“Clear!”
Suddenly a hand gripped his body and began pulling him violently to the surface, the blue getting brigher and brighter. Xavior’s head spun as his body pulsed.
At once, his eyes were open, and all the blue was washed out by bright white lights. Xavior felt himself vomiting and retching on a cold, hard surface.
Everywhere he looked there were painful bright lights, and when he closed his eyes, all he could hear was a loud buzz pummeling his eardrums. This noise and chaos continued for a long time, but slowly reduced itself into information that Xavior could comprehend.
He opened his eyes again and took in the awful truth of his surroundings. White walls, stale air, men and women in green scrubs. Xavior was in a hospital, and that meant one thing: he was still alive.

“Why?” he choked out. A few nurses and doctors gathered at his side.
“Don’t try to speak, just rest.” Coaxed one of them.
“Why?” Xavior said, yelling this time, “Why the hell didn’t it work!?”
“Mr. Bentley, you consumed a very dangerous amount of tranquilizers, but luckily someone found you in time. You’ve escaped death very narrowly.”
I didn’t want to escape it narrowly, he thought, I wanted to greet it head on!
“Fuck!” He yelled, and closed his eyes so tight he saw stars, hoping to squeeze out reality once and for all.
“Do you know how many of those things I took? Almost a whole fuckin’ bottle!”
“Guess it wasn’t your time,” said one of the doctors.
I just can’t get anything right, can I?
Furious, he began to rip the tubes and wires from his body. He couldn’t feel them tearing his skin. The doctors struggled to hold him down as he writhed about on the table.
Despite his efforts, he was subdued. Losing blood and over-exerting himself, Xavior lost consciousness.

When lights and sounds returned again, Xavior was in a much more relaxed state. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry about his failed self-termination. Instead, he simply watched the doctors move about in almost liquid-like movement. Their voices floated to his ears and made soft noises inside his head.
Just then two men in suits walked into the room and began talking to one of the doctors. They spoke quickly and firmly, their voices slicing through the air instead of floating. Xavior stared at them and breathed deeply through the tube that had been inserted into his windpipe.
The men walked over to Xavior. The blonde one spoke first.
“Xavior, you are a very sick boy,” he spoke the words as if from a script; “we’d like to help you.”
“We can take you to a place where there are more people that can help you,” said the second, less blonde man, “how would you like that?”
Xavior stared at the men, only blinking. The blonder man spoke to the doctors and ushered them out of the room. When they were gone, the two men stood by Xavior’s side. They stared at him for a moment before moving to opposite ends of the bed.
One of them pulled out Xavior’s breathing tube less than gently, creating a pain that slid up and down his throat like claws ripping through him. When the tube was out, the man muffled Xavior’s screams of agony. The second man ripped the tubes and wires from Xavior’s body. When two nurses came in to see what was the matter, the man nearest to the door produced a weapon resembling a small radio dish, and when he pointed it at the nurses, they collapsed.
His vision giving in to spots of blackness, Xavior struggled to get free of the man’s grasp, but he had no control over his muscles. The men slung him into a wheelchair and began to shove him out the door and down a hallway.
In the parking lot, the vehicle they dumped Xavior into was not an ambulance. It was a black van with padded walls and a thick plate of glass dividing the front from the back. Xavior hit the floor hard his backpack landed with a crash near his lifeless legs.
Something swelled within Xavior’s body, and just when he thought he was going to be sick, he blacked out once more. The last thing he heard was an explosion.