These voices in my head are slowly killing me, killing me, killing me. My friends, my own brother, want me to die, to cease to exist. If they want me to rot in hell, then so be it. They say things behind my back, calling me ugly. All I want is to be accepted.

"Why have I fallen prey to a demon of hate?" I say.

They flaunt themselves. They flaunt their freedom to do as they wish. They are showoffs. I am invisible. I am weak. I will never get up. They make me feel worthless. I am nothing.

They always ignore me. I try and try to get them to notice me. What have I done to them? What is so wrong with me that my family is shunning me?

"You're a monster." Those words repeat in my head as you hear my blood is dripping on the floor. The blade feels sharp against my skin. It feels good. It is intoxicating. I grip the blade tightly. My fist clenches out of anger.

I remember Father Fujimoto. I remember when Yukio had a gun to my head, threatening to kill me because I "killed" my father. I remember when the Vatican put me on a death sentence. I wish they had killed me when they had the damn chance!

I drag the blade against my skin harshly. They sheer agony of this makes me smile. It is a twisted, crazed smile. The smell of blood fills my nose. It smells good. Ironic, isn't it? I'm acting like the demon I swore I would never become.

Every time I slice my arm, the wound closes up. No matter how many times I cut my arm, the cut heals. It is frustrating. The blood is still there, running down my arms, as salty tears make their way down my face.

"It's no use." I sigh.

I get a towel and clean up. I glance at my arms. The cuts hardly even left a scar. My arm still hurts from the knife. I put the towel away on my secret hiding area, along with my knife and a picture of Yukio, Father Fujimoto, and me.

This was my first story! I hope you guys like it! I love you all!

I do not own Blue Exorcist.