[Author's Note: This actually isn't a drabble but a solo RP post from my William account, haha. Please keep in mind this is somewhat AU, my William has learned of the details of his own oncoming demise and has been working to change his own fate. Amongst other things.]
Silence.
The silence of the lab was once a wonderful, comforting thing. Just himself and his work, himself and his precious G-virus, nothing and no one to really concern himself out of each and every near mindlessly perfect day. Time had changed that, the scientist reflected as he stepped into the silence of his lab, weary blue eyes flicked about the emptiness that lay before him. Now where the silence once brought comfort it merely brought pain - voices, familiar ones painful ones missed ones, that haunted through each flickered corner.
It was better this way. It was better this way. William merely had to keep on telling himself those words, merely had to focus on them, drill them into himself, until he finally believed in them with every fiber of his being. He was capable of it. He'd done such a thing before on more than one occasion in his past.
If he didn't see them, didn't speak to them, either of them, the voices would stop haunting him. They would go away. The memories would fade once more to a manageable level and he would have succeeded - for once in his life he'd have finally done something right, something for someone else and not for solely himself.
But if it's right why does it feel so wrong? Why does it hurt so much?
…shut up.
With a sigh the blond man sunk into his spinney chair, dully staring at the papers on the desk before him without honestly seeing them for what they were. More work. Always more work. That was the one consistent thing in his life, a life that needed some form of consistency within it somewhere to maintain even the shattered fragments of sanity he grasped so futilely towards.
Always work and..
"Guess I'm not leaving Umbrella after all. Heh." Even the knowledge of what was to come, even knowing that he was going to die, was still better than the absence. Still better than the lack.
Shaky hands, skin still too pale too unhealthy, reached up as he held himself on each side of his head at the lance of pain that curled through his mind, pulsed like burning fire before ebbing, leaving that strange hallow sensation within there as well that matched the one that his entire body felt. He felt empty, inhuman, like it was he who was the monster separated so distantly from the vestiges of humanity that occasionally bothered with his presence. Lost within the confines of his own hands his blue eyes finally closed, a moment of weak inhale and exhale that echoed through his body as painfully as each last one.
And it was that moment the broken man cried.