The chill of a dark room

[DevilPaws 32]

(Theme music for your troubles)

 

He often forgot, more than the average person should. That was just how he had always remembered himself being, forgetful. His injuries from before having scrambled his mind beyond repair, he knew that well. Writing had always been how he remembered, reading the words on those pages was a comfort. He wasn’t broken entirely, not yet. It was the only comfort, the evils of the world did nothing but lurk in his life. Their happenings, only remembered through words on pages. His most reliable sense had always been his sight, the things he saw he knew were real because if he forgot their legitimacy as something real he could always see what he wrote, believe what he wrote.

 

At least, it was like that for a while. First the monsters that silenced him, that was fine he would be fine he would always be fine, despite how they stripped his book of memories from him he would adapt. He had to. Despite their ever presence in his mind, out of the corners of his eyes, he had to adapt. Stare straight ahead, ignore what’s not there.

 

His maw was pried open and his voice was forced to spill again, was he always so broken?

-

He let those hands drag him along wherever they wanted, only asking to go to specific places if the internal tug felt urgent. He had to hug his mother, and had to check on his friends. Despite the monsters they used to appear to be. His eyes hadn’t been gone for very long, though they were far from the first thing he’s lost. It burned, the thought of his friends melting away into monsters he couldn’t see, like they did when he could. The thought of being hurt, of having hands dig and claw into his face under the facade of helping fix him.

 

They wanted to fix him, but it hurt. It was horrible, the same sensation as losing something, only to be left with something new. Something that didn’t belong. How long had he lacked real friends? Only since he forgot how to grasp a reality that was solid, right? It hadn’t been that long, hadn’t been that long, hadn’t been that long! The darkness was so scary, a hell you know is better than a hell you don’t.

 

‘I’m scared. Get me out! Please! I want to get out!’ The writhing of something foreign in his mouth, the threat of something new being placed behind his eyelids, horrifying. They poke, pry, pull, and they are never satisfied. ‘Please I just want it all to be real again, I want to see a world that’s safe again!’

 

“Get me out of this illusion!”

 

The darkness was cold, terrifying. The emptiness in his eye sockets felt hollow, wrong. He could hear something, but he couldn’t tell what it was and couldn’t look to see it physically.

 

“Close your eyes.” Came a voice from the darkness, it wasn’t his voice nor was it one he could recognize. He took a step towards the sound, reaching out a hand and grasping at nothing. “Hello? Who’s there?” They didn’t seem hostile, and what else could he do but rot in this darkness?

 

“It will all be okay, just close your eyes, and breathe.” There wasn’t much to lose was there? No, of course not. Slowly, he closed his eyes again. Empty sockets finding more comfort as their exposure is hidden than when they were open.

 

Before he could register the dirt under his feet, the trees surrounding the area, his hands were taken into someone else's. A person. Their hair was long, and they seemed familiar, though not in a way his scrambled mind could pinpoint.

 

“Do not forsake this gift.”

 

An unclear statement, though one he understood nonetheless.

 

Wake up, Avello.

 

You are not nothing.