Death Valley

Clint lay in the bottom of the shower, staring up at the water hitting his body. Tonight was one of the nights where he would break into someone's house and use their shower, clean up and leave. He needed it. Once a week, the circus master would pay Clint's bunk a visit. He would leave and Clint would lay there feeling dirty, used, disgusting. Sobs racked his small body as he sat up under the stream, hugging his knees to his chest. He wanted his big brother to come and save him, alas, he was at war, fighting for America.

Clint stared at the pocket knife he had bought and picked it up, flicking the blade up. He pressed the blade against his thigh and dragged it across the pale skin harshly, letting out a hiss. The first one always hurt. He watched the crimson liquid bubble up to the surface and slowly slide down his skin, becoming lighter as it mixed with the water. Again. Two marks. Three. Four. Five. Five cuts. One for each year he had stayed at that god forsaken circus. He should have left with Barney, shouldn't have waited so long to agree. Maybe if he'd been quicker the bus wouldn't be leaving when he had got there. Maybe if. Maybe if. Maybe if.

Clint knew he needed to get out of this hell. This routine he'd got into. His fingers traced the ugly puckered scars that already decorated his legs and more sobs racked his body. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not ever. He stared at the blade shining softly in the light before pressing it against the sensitive skin of his wrist. One flick. He let out a sobbed yell as he watched the blood ball up. It wasn't dribbling down his wrist. Not deep enough. There was a small voice at the back of his head, telling him over and over not to do this. The scream of his desperation was much louder. He stabbed the blade into the already small cut and yanked it down with strength he had no clue he possessed. He held the blade in his left hand, stabbing into his right wrist for good measure. The blood mixed down his arms, making nothing short of a mess. He lay down and held his left arm up, watching the blood lace down his arm. Why did something so destructive look so beautiful?

There it was. The blackness creeping over his vision. Clint dropped his hand, not caring that his hand was over the edge of the tub. That he could hear the dripping of the blood over the shower. He didn't care that he could hear someone calling out; the residents of the house. He only cared that he died before they found him. As the bathroom door opened, a yell went up before- a sobbed cry? Was that Barney he could hear crying out to him?
"Clint! Please, please stay awake oh god. MARY CALL AN AMBULANCE!"
Clint opened his eyes enough to see Barney. No. It couldn't be. He reached weakly up to him, coughing hard as his body started fighting.
"B-Barn..?"
"It's me Clint. Oh baby bro I was gonna surprise you... Please stay awake for me. No! NO CLINT STAY AWAKE!"

What where the chances? Clint stared at his own body being put on the stretched. He watched his big brother sobbing and chasing after the paramedics. But it was too late. He knew it. He stayed in the bathroom for a moment before black took him.

Notes