Short Story Competition

The genre I've chosen to go with is a more depressing toned story. I will include an obligatory trigger warning for violent themes and suicidal themes. This story is a heavily edited section of a longer story that is currently in progress. I looked down and saw blood spraying out of my left forearm - synchronous with the beat of my dying, yet rapidly increasing in pace heart. Maybe it was the pain, or the rush of euphoria and satisfaction mixed with the smallest dilute of regret, pulsing through my now exposed, gushing veins. The feeling had left my body as quick as it entered, I sat now in an agonizing pain as I just glared at the 8 inch long gash I'd just put down my forearm, with the razor blade in my right hand I swapped it between hands, fumbling it around due to my hands shaking and seizing due to the pain and severe blood loss. With the razor now in my left hand, my head started to fill with what felt like helium, and I started seeing doubles of everything, the razor, my arms, and the bathtub which has now turned a lovely shade of pink as my blood diluted itself more and more into the mixture. While I started losing my ability to think properly and almost losing my will to recreate another gash on my right arm I could still take a second and appreciate what I"ve done. I have went through so much sh-t in the 38 years of life I've had the pleasure of living through. Like everything it had it"s ups and always had it"s downs, but throughout all that good that I've had the reasons for the ups in my life have left me, and now I have nothing to do every day of my life but wallow in the sadness of knowing that at one time I wasn't completely miserable. These worries were leaking quite rapidly out of the still oozing gash in my arm, which no longer was rhythmically in tune with my heart, it simply just leaked. I didn't want to think about just how miserable my goddamn life was but my brain played it back to me against my will. I think the beginnings of my life spiraling downhill so drastically started in 2009, when I found my son Xavier murdered in my own back yard. I had only let him play right outside. I don"t want to believe it was my fault but Jesus f-cking Christ does it feel that way. I only let him play outside. My wife certainly thought it was my fault. She thought so desperately that it was my fault that at one point she accused me of committing the crime. Me, me me me me me me me. I repeat myself in the head multiple times before I begin to recollect the day my wife told me she was leaving, and never letting me see Carl again. The courts agreed with her. I sit here now with the razor from my left hand forced against my forearm just below the inside of my elbow aligned with the faint blue vein that ran all the way into my hand. I began slicing with as much force as my dying body could muster up, but it was enough to make a sickening ripping and tearing sound as the razor blade forced itself through my skin and at least an inch of tissue and muscle, splitting the vein clear in half in some places. This arm didn't bleed as much, but the tub was getting a scarlet red from all the blood inside, I began spontaneously blacking out from all factors combining about halfway down my forearm. I did not make it to my wrist. As I hit about two-thirds down my forearm I black out for the final time, loosening my grip on the razor blade. As the razor blade fell into the water my arms started to cease the bleeding, and as I began to feel the sensation of death rain over me, well, nothing. That is, there was nothing for the short while until I entered my new eternity home. This new eternity home is what I can only assume as hell, although being more cozy than my Christian extremist of a mother told me it was, it was still an unsettling experience nonetheless.