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Chris looked down at the playdough heart he made. He sat at his table, all alone, then looked around. All alone. He was in the classroom... all alone. Again, he looked down to his small heart he had made of the playdough left over from the previous class. That class that had already ended over three hours ago.
The heart on the table, it was small, and stretched out. It reminded Chris of his life, far, distant, alone... and stretched out.
Chris held the heart close to his, and uncontrolably started to sob. Tears fell like water from a focet, and Chris didn't even bother to wipe them away, he actualy enjoyed them. Then his wrists started to sting.
When Chris looked, with his blury vision, dark red blood streamed down his wrists. He looked at the heart in his hands, and noticed it was sharp.
Chris cried more. He felt worse, thinking that the heart didn't even like him. He held it close again, and tried to ignore the pain it caused. The thing that kept him holding, he thought that no matter how much it hurt, love was worth it. He wanted to hold the heart, hold it untill it held back.

Then things turned black.

He knew.
He loved.
He lost, not only his love.
He lost... his life.