Title: Blood
Pairing: None
Type: one-shot
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, just the story
Warnings: Drug use, gore, animal death, darkish fic
Summary: Bad title, Roxas acid trip; better than it sounds. My first one-shot... ever... and I will never do one again because one-shots are the devil. It seemed like a clever idea, but not one I want to continue.
Blood
Roxas had his eyes closed, body concealed, lies ready, and mentally prepared for the next trip.
The thin strip was rough in his otherwise soft hands. Roxas studied it, cocking his head to the side and sniffing it, hoping it would smell of daisies, or at least something pleasant. It was a faded green, see-through, and completely new to him. Axel, a drug dealer at his high school, had left behind some in the bathroom. Roxas was too scared to say anything, and eagerly took it from the school's sink. The small boy put it in his mouth slowly, and allowed the drug to melt on his tongue. It tasted bitter like dandelions, and he was reminded distinctly of peanuts; yet it had no taste at all. The effect was immediate and alarming; his fingertips felt lighter than a feather, his chest seemed to hum to a tune he had not known before now, his legs shook violently, and his mind ceased to be a mind but was now a void of colors and shapes. And there Roxas was, traveling in this space that seemed large, yet small and he may have screamed, but if he did this his voice was only a hum in the distance.
A large pink lamp followed Roxas around with razor sharp teeth. Roxas stared at it and saw a small drop of blood fall. Although he was so far from it, he felt as though it were in his mouth. Roxas tasted the metal unwillingly and shuttered at the thought of metal to skin and blood poured shamelessly from his veins. He tried to cover them up, and he yelled out, but no one would come to Roxas' aid. The small boy touched his arm, and the blood was gone. The taste had left as well and Roxas only felt empty in its place. His eyes followed the blood for a long while, wondering if it would ever splatter and hit the ground. The blonde boy longed to hear the sound of bones crushing as well as blood-curdling screams. Roxas screwed his face up, unable to trace where a sudden thought of violence came from. Something wet hit his face, awakening him from deep within his mind. The boy looked up. He felt his face quickly and the blood smeared and stuck to his fingers. He stared at the blood as light shone off of it and turned into the smiling face of someone that seemed so familiar, yet he had never met this person, and yet, he remembered that this person was his father. How he had forgotten made him feel stupid and ashamed, and he looked down. But as soon as Roxas looked down a road seemed to appear beneath his feet and he felt the cool ground desperately, as though it were the only thing to save him from the lamp that had disappeared as quickly as it came. And there Roxas was, walking down this street, with blood still on his face and hands, and he walked proudly as though he were someone of importance.
A small girl with blonde hair approached Roxas nervously. She had a tattered white dress, big sapphire eyes, and a sketchpad in hand. She merely stared at him for some time and whipped out a small pencil. With this pencil she began to draw, looking up at him occasionally. He stared at the small girl with a raised eyebrow and continued to walk on. She stared at him blankly as Roxas walked past her.
Roxas stared up at the purple sky that had rainbow flying out of every inch of the sky; and they smiled down on him with red, angry eyes. His eyes fluttered and he collapsed on the ground. Roxas thought he might be having a seizure until he felt acid in the pit of his stomach threatening to travel upwards. He bent over to vomit, but instead of acid and chunks of food, a small chicken crawled and clawed its way out of his mouth. The chicken's feathers were wet, and it was red with big blue eyes. The small beast spoke to Roxas about the world, about the government, life, poverty, and animals. He took this all in, debating and speculating all there was to be speculated. Roxas' eyes were glazed over, and he went closer to the chicken after all had been said. He leaned forward and seized it by the throat, indifference playing on his face. The blonde boy gave it a sudden wicked smile and strangled it, chortling quietly at the choked squeals of pain. The beast was weak and did not put up much of a fight, and it died there in Roxas' hands.
Roxas walked away from the dead carcass and blood was now splattered on his shirt, but he had never made the little beast bleed. It was not questioned, and he moved through his world at a pace that was fitting for him. He took a moment to close his eyes, and before he knew it, the small boy was in another world. There was a bed. Roxas was sitting on this bed, and the bed felt more solid than anything he had felt previously. He gripped the sheets with sudden anxiety, and took a long, deep breath. He felt the air swirl in his lungs, and felt lighter when he forced it out. Roxas dared to close his eyes again, and with slight disappointment he found the bed still there. The boy had not moved an inch or into another dimension. Light reflected off a mirror that reminded him of blood, and he stumbled over to stand in front of it. When he had taken a closer look, Roxas found himself. A small chicken with red eyes appeared behind him and bit at his neck. Roxas screamed in terror. Roxas refused to turn around; for his eyes were fixed on his shirt that was covered with the blood of the chicken.