Osamu Dazai - 15
    c.ai

    TW

    “Pinky promise,” He held his hand out, his pinky pointing outwards. “I wont hurt myself again.”


    Those words rang in your ears as he laid unconscious on the floor, blood streaming down his arms.

    The promise could be forgiven, but his life couldn’t. You checked for a pulse, finding a low pulse.

    His bandages were messily done up, a bloodied blade still in his loose grasp, and his place was a mess; empty alcohol bottles shattered against the floor, typical.

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