u/Afraid_Many_3877

Darkness, full of action, hangs in a room filled by one, but supervising two presences.
“Dan, did you see that!” Squeaked from a young child to a person only seen by him. TV glow pushing back shadows like soldiers suppressed by mortar fire waiting to advance. Gun fire and explosions fill the outer space themed room with glowing stars and messy spaceship sheets. Controller in hand, inches from the screen, and feeling as if it’s real. “Dan, did you see that!” With no reply but persisted vocal waves ring out like a flash bang. “VICTORY” flashes on the screen, followed by ecstatic excitement from the young kid. When the dopamine wears off he turns to his friend to see his expression. A blank stare stings back at him followed by wiggling lines that only stay in his peripheral. “SLAM” the door swings open with unknown reason for force. His small body flies around to only meet his dad standing in the doorway. “Hey buddy, foods done” bellowing from the tall man. The child scrambles down to the dining room to meet his favorite dinner, chicken nuggets.
Scarfed down as if he ran miles with a rucksack on, as if his mom was feeding a battalion.

He lay in his bed looking up at his glowing stars watching the faces that tell him things we could not understand. His tiny voice responding under the cover of darkness like a special operation for enemy intel. Until, finally, his brain shuts down for the night along with his bodiless informants.

“GET UP SOLDIER” splashes him from a desert camo fitted figure matching everyone around him. He gets up grabbing his black stick only configured from images he’s seen, and charges forward. What felt like hours he concluded the ending of this battle but in a war his mind can never win alone.

He spends recess alone talking to himself ,from the outside, about what he’s going to do when he gets home. He tells Dan about his dream last night accompanying a drawing of it he made. The other faces join in to listen and observe the drawing seeming satisfied. He stands up, leaving the drawing on the table, as the sun is beating down on him. He scouts a shaded area aided by his disembodied friends, only to come back to see his drawing missing.

Later that night voices in small amounts discuss in fragments. “What do we do, Steve, this is serious” in a shrivel voice followed by muffled responses demanding energy the kid ceases to possess.

Lifted from his bed in a half conscious state to the family Sudan. Sections only fill his brain on the winding destination seeming to last 3 minutes of conscious filtering.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dave, we are ready for him” flowing gently from a stubby man in neat scrubs holding a reassuring smile.

The tiny child’s face lay in hot sand with no origin to how he got there, but he knew his objective. Brushing himself off, halfway tying his miniature shoes, and setting one foot in front of the other towards the tree line in the distance. The sun beating on his back and exhaustion over coming his senses he finally reaching the shade. Collapsing to a base of a tree he notices small faces flying away from him deeper into the forest. Getting up after his small break he starts off following the direction of the faces. Feet turning into yards and yards turning into miles lost and confused he spots a grey cube through the thick brush. Approaching it rewarded him with a small building with cans of food and questionable water. A place to sleep, a place to think, and a place to hatch a plan against his unknown foe. Regaining his senses he notices a small map on the wall that is a illustration of a mountain with faint red lettering at the base reading “you are here”. The top of the mountain scribbled out but owning an overwhelming understanding that it’s the place. The cool nightfall enveloping the land laying the exhausted child to sleep.

The sun shines through the scarce windows of the cube striking his face.

With no way to prepare the cans of food he ate them raw nearly throwing up after every bite. With tears streaming down his small face, chocking it down with the little water he had left. Noticing a small duffle bag in the corner of the room he peeks inside. Metallic to the touch cold and barren he knew exactly what these were, but lacking knowledge to correctly handle them. He stashes the small amount of food left, flat plastic hollow boxes filled with small brass cylinders, and one long metal stick into the bag. Setting off at sunrise to the top of the mountain finding an established trail with slowed pace. Buzzing filling the air the kid looks up to find the faces starring at him. “Hey friends” he blurts out with a course small voice that barely reaches them. Their facial expressions turning sour as they uniformly dashed in opposing directions. “NO WAIT PLEASE” cries from the depleted kid yearning for his bed back home. Mind on autopilot and the gradual accent applying pressure like a frog in a pot. Effete from the trek at last reaching the top of the mountain only to find it’s a plateau. Countless faces huddle in a small circle in the middle shaking and whispering that reach the kids ear but not understood. Dropping the bag with great relief as if he could float away but living it briefly. “Counterfeit” piercing the ears of animals miles around not fully understood by the child. Holding his ears and closing his eyes with tears then lifting his head to reveal his enemy. Standing in the middle of the faces, now staring deeply at him, stands Dan. The kid grabbing the a hollow box, labeled .308, slapping it into the FN FAL. Just as Dan flings his long lanky body like tendrils towards him. The kid arching his back trying to get the muzzle towards the target. Pulling the trigger *click* with 100 yard between them pulling levers and buttons. He raises the muzzle back up towards Dan again *click* *click* *click*. Thrown to the ground and an aching coming from his chest held by enormous weight. “You were always shit when it came to those shooting games” chuckled by Dan barely understood by the child. Kicking and punching he began to wriggle free only for the grip to tighten. One hand became free after adrenaline filled anger plunging fingers deep into Dans eye socket throwing the kid. Regaining his composure through the pain Dan searching the area. “Where are you little shit, I’m going to kill you” booming with pain. Noticing the top of brown hair on the edge of the plateau “there you are” whispered under rotten breath. Approaching with extreme strength and whisper sound the kid popping up sinking the muzzle into Dans other eye with great speed. *BANG*

Eye lids flicker with no memory as his parents and the doctor looming over the small kid. In a soft, but stained recliner sat the kid like a small kitten in a Dobermans dog house. The kid skipping out the doctors after handshakes and hugs were exchanged.

A brass casing and smoke leak from the chair Into a small box to be shipped.

The kid spends recesses with real friends playing soccer and his parents remarking “he can finally live normal like everyone else”.

A BBQ at a typical suburban house in a cultisac filled with family and friends on forth of July, the main cook, Josh, around the grill talking and laughing with his friends, a vibrant day with bright colors streak through the sky. Josh leaves to go in the house with a big smile on his face; he shuts the door to a empty cold dark house with sounds of happiness being underwhelming. Opening the fridge for his diabetes medication eyeing the cake in the back. Sitting there observing until his watch beeps reminding him to take his medicine, finally, the dull warm glow of the fridge light cuts off as the door shuts.

It’s a late night with a beautiful sunset with below a sky full of fireworks. Josh, found a girl and they started talking, laughing, enjoying. He wants to ask for her number it takes him all night to work up to it but evidently she declines in a respectful manner, but her face wrinkles up with true emotions. laughing it off , Josh, starts to clean up for the night. At the sink washing the same plates he has seen too often “omg could you believe he asked for my number?” “I know right he looks like such a pig” laughter trailing off.

The night is cold and the HOA won’t allow fireworks after 10 so it’s quiet, Josh, after waking up in a cold sweat heads downstairs “a little piece won’t hurt right? I won’t eat for a week if I can have one piece that will balance it out”

In the bathroom with a toilet full of stomach acid and puke all over the carpet. the sun is peaking through the blinds while birds sing masked by blurry vision and anger swelling at his water line only seen by a cracked reflection in the mirror. “I am such a fat fucking disgusting creature” as he wallows he leaves the bathroom and starts towards the kitchen.

Rope lay on the floor the fibers all frayed and tensionless, Josh’s eye lids flicker with a sense of disbelief followed by a dull pain around his neck and dry gasping. Roof dry wall surrounding him covering him in a shame that can’t be measured.

A faint glow running to escape from under Josh’s door, he books himself a “doctors” appointment in hopes to be the man he wants to be.

“THIS is really the place?” Remarks Josh walking through a wooden door on a delapatating brick building and then greeted by a tall older black man, “sign these forms, the doc will be out for you soon” he starts and ends. 10 minuets pass in the hour it felt in a dark stuffy mildew flavored room. A short stubby man walks out “Josh, you’re up” wearing a tight smile but genuine smile.

“HEY STOP, LET ME OUT HELP HELP” A voice ringing through concrete hallways insulated with dirt and rock. Metal chairs scratch the floor, voices in languages never spoken, followed by a quick flash of light. Piercing vibrations off the walls mimicking the word “eat”. Josh looks down to shield his eyes to notice a black cube on a plate he noticed to well. Before he could understand it all another sharp tight mimic returns no one is in the room with him.

The convulsions of the mimic are the only thing remotely close to gauging time. Tears fall to the plate after every bite shoved in his mouth. Blowing it everywhere with the sounds being losely close to “IM FULL” over and over. The substance never seeming to dissipate, and has the consistency that of oil with zero taste. Time irrelevant to a suffering man that never seems to be heard. shoveling goo in his mouth in fear to disobey the echos off the walls. In the time Josh sat in the room he grew 3x times the size he walked in at. He could not go any longer almost choking and throwing up, and having saliva and this goo covering his clothes and stained skin. the fork hitting the metal table ringing out to no one questioning if it even happened.

Josh awakens in a ripped leather chair that smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. The doctor walks over to him, Josh, hugs him they shake hands and then depart.

Black sludge seeping from the chair into a jar the doc is holding labeled and ready for shipment.

Over several months, Josh, loses 127 pounds, and life turned into a pleasure everyone else had.

“Wow look at you man I’m so jealous” “yeah seriously you have to tell us your secret” “Just dedication” replied ,Josh, followed by him excusing himself as his watch beepins.

Red wine storming into fancy glasses only thought to be heard by rich weirdos. A sip after sip snuck in between the shitty show expressed by a broken mind. Sips Turing into big gulps on a gradual ratio of anger to sadness. SMASH, hundreds of beautiful, brutal, gem like shards scattered the tiled floor with a muffled explosion. Silky red, like a blanket, hugging the shards in a stainless glass dance. Pictures hang on the refrigerator maybe from a happier time, although, things rarely change; long blonde hair with Hawaiian drinks filled with uppers and a thread. The fractured mirror limply reflecting the low buzzcut and delayed regret.

\*Beep\* \*Beep\* \*Beep\* ringing through a house that once seemed like a catalyst to a better life. “It’s already 3?” Said in her mind like it’s the first time. A smoke cloud behind a rushed expression of appearance through the oak trimmed doorway.

“Madison!” Cries out across an opulent food court. “Omg hey guys!” “It’s been too long” replied in a shaking voice. The looks she gathered gave her the reassurance that her hair isn’t liked. Laughter booming from the table “yes and then I through the laptop at her” “as you should she’s such a bitch”. After a while of laughter filled discussion “Hey, Maddy, aren’t you hot?” Cooed from one girl. “Fuck yes I am look at me they all want me” replied by Madison. “No like you’re sweating and all red” “you should take off the sweater”. Her heart pounding listening to the last words she wanted to hear.

Dirty clothes filling the floor, plates and food scatter all available cabinet space; over time over flowing into floor space. Numbing glow showing the extent of decay blocked out by a hijacked mind. Her bed a cocoon, her mind hopeless, and her motivation depleted to a lifeless body.

Pill bottles the only thing that’s out of place anymore. The house filtering sun through massive black curtains, dust as a film over untouched couches and tables. Cleaned before to perfection in a motivational rushed soulless manner. Music ringing from the one room she spends most of her time. Paint, art supplies, guitars, writing material, with various other hobbies litter the room. She builds, creates, and learns, while under substances, in a frenzy of energy with unknown origin. Hung in frames, posted to story websites, sold and donated, on pedestals her statues and creations lay in pride.

Summer art shows, painting outside, book clubs, band practice all slow in the later months of cold.

The flicker of a lighter cutting through the empty, cold, darkness of her room. Knife in one hand covered in a slippery liquid. A Bic begging for more fuel in the other. The char started at pieces of unwanted paper, later ending at her prized half finished book. Standing in the middle of her effort to end her greatest triumphs feeling that of a god.

Red wine storming into fancy glasses only thought to be heard by rich weirdos. A sip after sip snuck in betw…

“Madison? We are ready for you” squeaked out by a short man dressed in scrubs.

A faint glow mimicking the moon coating the smooth imperfect concrete walls that reach into the sky. “HELLO?” Yelped and only rebounding back faded. 30 minutes - 3 hours, she thinks, pass in silence that has a presence of depression. Wandering the labyrinth with anxiety, hopelessness, sadness creeping higher and higher with every corner turned. Minutes feel like days and minutes feel like seconds. 30 seconds pass “HELP” “SOMEONE HELP ME” cries that reach far, but evidently received by almost no one. 49 seconds in, Madison paints a uniform concrete wall into a red stamp hollering “KILL ME” over and over.

“Fuck my head” only for an ephemeral moment the adrenaline flushing out the pain only to be replaced by fear. Standing in front of her an exact copy of herself. Madison, jumping back by terror smashing into a wall mimicked by her copy. Sitting, back to the wall, palms sweaty with every second dragged by the eye contact they share. The pain from her head rushing back muddling her vision with throbbing pulses that almost distract her. Awkward silence spans a un foreclosed amount of time. The copy’s facial features distorting into anger in a slow controlled descent over this period of time. Energy drained and pain surging, Madison’s eyes dim to peace.

She dreams of paint and how she could paint all of the walls in colorful masterpieces. She dreams of having time for all her hobbies and friends. She decides to make more time for them in the future.

Awakened by gurgling, an intense gaze, and animal like posture she goes into fight or flight. The copy flies off the corner with inhuman speed towards her like a football snap. She runs down the never ending path with no destination. The sounds of bare feet and puddles of liquid being disturbed grow closer.

DEADEND

As she encounters the wall she flings herself backwards toward the copy. She’s flung to the ground, pinned, only able to wiggle enough to breathe. The taste of moldy meat and the texture of bruised banana fill her mouth as she sinks her teeth into this thing. Jumping on the copy’s back trying to get her arms anywhere to control. Dragged to the floor getting her arms around the neck in a struggle that costs everything she has. Tighten, tighten, tighten, her muscles cramp and contract under the force. The copy flailing trying to wriggle away admitting zero sound.

\*CRACK\*

Pressure lessens, struggle turns into relief, pain crashing against her body, her eye sight runs black. From a smoke stained clothe chair secreting mold that fills the air later to be harvested. She leaves with a smile and a glow she has never felt, finally, living like everyone else.

“MADISON, I love your hair so much!” Said from the kitchen that use to hold crushed insanity. Now littered by art, happiness, wealth and knowledge of one’s self.

“As a kid I wanted to be an astronaut, and I feel I relate with them more than anyone else right now”. Carved in a piece of rotted drift wood washed on one of many uninhabitable islands.

In a small boat two men lie exhausted and one beat down. Friends since they can remember but oddly never reciting names or events. Eyes fly open with great speed, chest heaving massive amounts of air, and pain rocking all senses. Looking at his friends glad to see he doesn’t look in to bad of shape. Clean clothes, brushed hair, tied neat shoes, and no cuts to see. All noticed in hindsight of course, because panic sank in as soon as he seen the forever expanding solid blue horizon; splitting the vision into 2 shades of blue. Jutting for an oar, stick, or even a different color than blue and brown. Unconscious uncertain movements rocking the boat enough to wake the other man. Same panic and ideas rush the minds racing so fast the simple synthesizing into complexity. “STOP” a booming voice stretches out, filled with anxiety and frustration, slows the aggressive rocking of the boat until it’s gently kissing the waves. “If we stress we will end up even more lost” they both agree and start brain storming. For an undisclosed amount of time this persisted slowly turning into fun childhood stories as they had a lot in common. The 2 men, under the gradient from blue to grey, break parts off the boat to hopefully make a make shift oar. With the very few information accompanying the complex brain they numbed the impossible task of surviving to a simple goal to make an oar, but what after that? The rest of the day they paddled in one direction and decided to keep that way in hope to either find a ship or land. Out of energy and unable to see they slept on the sea with uncomfortable bumps from waves and fish as they hoped. Exhaustion finally overcoming them they lay at rest for the duration of the night.

They paddled and paddled with an encroaching feeling of hunger and thirst. One man tasked to make a device to catch food and the other to paddle; switching every so often. Nails shoved in pieces of wood after blood flows from finger nails to dig them out and put them in. After 3 days of countless cups of sweat, tears, and blood a crude spear flutters hope. *SMACK* the nails shallowing gripping a decent sized fish. Stomachs growling and too hungry to care they dig in washed down with ocean water after days of working on empty.

Repeated for 4 counted sunsets a feeling of anxiety of his partner, a feeling of aggression towards him seeps in. Sleeping becomes hard with a fear his friend might kill him for more food and space. He starts sleeping with the make shift spear and hogging fish with tensions running high. “That’s not enough you dick, give me more of the fish” ringing with certainty and intent, before a reply could fill the air nails drill into his friend’s pristine shirt leaving no blood stain. Plunge after plunge muscles contracting using extreme energy for each thrust “IM A GOD” reaches the sky’s as he collapses into the small boat.

Eyes fly open with great speed, chest heaving massive amounts of air, and pain rocking all senses. The spear stuck proud out of the rot filled wood; nails bent and the handle splintered. Alone the man stands up in the middle of space as it’s closer for a tear runs down his dirt and blood stained cheek.

I can’t get them out I scratch and plunge but only more appear.

Looking in the mirror a small bulge of purple and green hang on my chest this morning. Thinking it was a stubborn pimple I kept trying to squeeze it away. It grew in size, which looking back I didn’t notice, so I left it alone. It didn’t cause any pain and it wasn’t in an inconvenient location, so I decided to head to my meeting; the meeting I thought I would finally get my raise. We went somewhere nice and talked for a hour or 2 the whole time my chest gradually gained a burning sensation. I decided it was a bad case of heartburn, so I excused myself to the restroom. Unbuttoning my first button I notice green and purple streaks running towards my neck. I unbutton the second to reveal a half dozen oozing black pustules 3x the size the first one was. I splash some water on my face, where did these come from? Is it my new body wash? *splash* a sound like someone was take a shit, but I recall no one being in here with me. Looking down into the sink lay a wriggling white maggot covered in the black goo and blood. Buttoning my shirt, grabing the maggot, flushing it, and driving home lead me here. They are all over my face and feet my mattress is covered in blood, and sweat. They tell me it’s cold they tell me to get somewhere warm they tell me it’s cold and they weep. I’m hungry and can’t move please send help please

I’m hungry and can’t move please send help please

I’m hungry and can’t move please send help please

I’m hungry and can’t move please send help please