Pip, no older than 9 years of age, experiences a form of psychosis laced within his own nightmares. And yet, he is willing to blindly follow the much larger, clearly older being whose voice he can only recall through the faintest of memories not yet lived.
Based around the song Pet, by A Perfect Circle
If Pip recalled correctly, it was one of the darkest nights he had ever recalled seeing. Not a star showed up in the sky, and the moon was nowhere to be found. And somehow, for some reason unknown to him, he stood outside, on the edge of a man-made rock wall. The drop could not have been far at all; six feet at the most, and yet, he hesitated. He looked down at the shimmering ground below, that which had been dusted with a new sheet of freshly fallen snow. No, not ground-Ice.
And there was snow around him, he realized. Snow falling to the tip of his nose and the backs of his fingers when he moved them for circulation. He was cold, and hardly dressed for the bitter temperature and harsh wind that nipped through his clothing and pierced his skin. It stung him worse than needles ever could.
Yet, he hesitated. And waited.
For what, he did not know. He could not know, no matter how hard he closed his eyes and willed his mind to work. There was nothing but buzzing static that jumbled his thoughts.
The harder he tried to think, the harder it became to concentrate on anything. He was shivering-freezing to what he could only assume to be death. His mind was fuzzy, and his vision was blurring with the tears from the cold air. He took a half a step closer to the edge. The sole of his shoe was teetering on the edge of the unstable ledge. But he maintained balance, and shifted his other stiff leg, so close to resting on nothing but air with his next step.
"Don't fret, precious, I'm here..." It was so faint, so dastardly distant, but he heard it like a whisper in his ear, even past the roaring air. His step returned to the rock his other was resting upon, though waiting to take that final step off.
From a gaze he could feel on his back, he turned. There was a figure, so much darker than the very skies above, so visible, yet so hidden. It offered an extended hand, to which he timidly took, a bit awkwardly with such a tremble to his hand.
"Step away from the window." The words hardly registered in his mind, but he followed the guidance of that hand, and took a step down. And another, until he had both feet settled on the black river below. Concrete, something told him. He didn't ponder it for long. When the smooth, whispered voice told him to sleep, his eyes only grew heavier, and he could feel himself warming up, despite the wind blowing harder than before.
"Lay your head down, child. I won't let the boogeymen come."
Much louder, the voice was this time. He took a glance up at the figure, but it-he-was only staring ahead, taking slow, yet confident, steps forward. The young boy followed blindly, lulled by the voice's tone and the soft words of reassurance. Their hands were together, though the young arm was up at an awkward angle, for the shadowed figure was twice Pip's size.
"Count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums."
He had not heard it before, but now that it had been brought up, there was a constant beat and tap of drums, seeming as distant as the voice had been, from the start. And his eyes, wet from the brutal air, scanned the forest beside the road they walked, and he noticed just how many corpses were strewn across the banks. He shivered in fear. as the voices-the hideous voices in his own head-grew louder.
"Pay no mind to the rabble, pay no mind to the rabble..."
His eyes closed tightly, and he followed blindly in some sort of twisted attempt to block out the noise that has plagued him for more years than he would care to admit. It was difficult, but when the hand on his squeezed, it was the reassurance he required to keep them at bay.
"Head down, go to sleep, to the rhythm of the war drums."
Hazel eyes snapped open suddenly, for what reason, he did not know. Yet as he did, the wind had ceased, and they were no longer in the forest, but within a familiar, quiet, mountain town. His shoulders were tense, and not simply from the attempt to keep himself from shivering.
"Pay no mind, to what the voices say. They don't care about you." Pip could feel the gaze on him once more. He tilted his head up to look up into those terrifyingly serene hues of blue, and away from the standing figures all whispering around them. Lips moved on the dark figure, but the words spoken were barely an audible whisper with a resounding echo. "Like I do...
"Safe from pain, and truth, and choice, and other poison devils." And safe he felt. It didn't matter how dark the world around them seemed; so long as he was with this guardian of sorts, the world felt alive with its own source of light.
But when he glanced around, at those whispering figures surrounding them, he could clearly hear the words of disdain and feigned kindness.
"See, they don't give a fuck about you..." They stopped suddenly, and his chin was cupped by the figure. "...Like I do."
Those eyes...he had certainly seen them before. As to where, exactly, was not something he could recall. But he was in a trance once more, though completely different from the last, only in the means of peace and silence within his own head.
"Just..stay with me, safe and ignorant." Eyes closed and he leaned into the touch, as an obedient little pup would for its master. "Go back to sleep, go back to sleep..."
Before he could even begin to take a slow inhale, the bitter cold air rushed upon him, and his eyes shot open, to bare witness to the nothingness that lies ahead. Only when a faint spark of light began to show so far away did the wind slow, and as it grew, the wind slowed until it was gone once more. Shadows danced across the light, however never obscuring the vision for longer than a couple of seconds. Firm hands settled upon his shoulders, and the fingers squeezed just a little tighter than what was actually comfortable.
"I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons."
He hadn't realized how tense he was until those hands dragged him back, just a little more. The warmth...it radiated from behind him, and Pip was melting into it.
"I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason."
The more he relaxed into that familiar, welcomed touch, the more those dancing and stalking shadows dissipate.
"They're one in the same, and I must isolate you: isolate and save you from yourself."
Once the shadows had completely ceased, the light began to fade, and the world around them swam and spun in a rapid vortex, and if Pip wasn't being grounded by this older chap, he would fear that he might be sucked in along with the light.
"Swing to the rhythm of a new world order and count the bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums."
The hands were no longer on his shoulders, and instead, the figure stepped before him, as though separating and leaving a barrier between him and the monsters before them. Young hands gripped at the back of his coat in a tight grip, as though he had to hang on in fear of succumbing to the voices.
"The boogeymen are coming...The boogeymen are coming." A hand reached back and almost tenderly grabbed a handful of blonde hair, and only used the hold to bring him in closer, as though to hide. "Keep your head down, go to sleep to the rhythm of the war drums."
He let his eyes slide shut once more, in favor of following instructions. He was trembling, and as seconds seemed to stretch into hours, he couldn't keep those voices away. Voices that were familiar, as well, all jumbled and morphed into something that resembled his worst nightmares only reverberated through his mind, and if he could breathe a sound, it would be a scream as his head thuds under the pressure of insanity.
Pip doesn't recall when his hands are torn away from the tight grip on the coat, for they're securely squeezing larger, much warmer hands. He doesn't recall when he even opens his eyes, but there's swirling darkness swarming around them, and those eyes are on him-he's in front of him.
"I will hold you and protect you from the other ones."
Other ones...That phrase raises some familiar flags in his head, and he can feel the puzzle lining together piece by piece. He's just missing the main piece-the connection he longs to solve.
"The evil ones, don't love you."
He's studying those features so clear in front of him, and his hands move from that comforting grasp to settle upon pale cheeks. Fingers brush through soft, midnight hair as ghosting fingers delicately grip the sides of Pip's face, brushing through the slightest bit of golden hair in their passing. Memory floods through him when gazes lock. Lips move to utter a single name, so foreign to his tongue, but so familiar in his head-
"...Go back to...
"...Sleep." He jolts up, head heavy and body stiff. Light floods through his room from the opened window, where curtains dance sinfully through the current of frosty air. Hands are balled up into tight fists, his head's hanging with each pained gasp for air, until he's calmed down enough to realize he had been living a lucid dream.
Through the corner of Pip's eye, in the mirror connected to his desk not far from his bed, he cannot be certain if he truly spotted a shadow lingering in the mirror's edge.