- I am what you would call a 'huge fan' of Homestuck, and more so of Gamzee Makara. This is just a little 'drabble' so to speak.
-TS
Ticks and tocks.
So many ticks and tocks are passing by, slipping into oblivion like sand through my fingers- not that I can even see my fingers clearly at this point in time. They are stained with lush colours, indigo and jade and blue and yellow and brown- all the motherfucking colours popping up in contrast to my grey skin. It smells rancid, it smells fake, it smells like pain. I know it isn't real, I know it's just in my head. All these demons, all these sounds and sights- aren't real life. Everything is fake, made up, make believe- like Pupa Pan or fairies. I begin repeating my own self assurance, a chant made out of desperation.
'It's not real- honk!'
'They're not really- honk- here.'
'Honk! I'm okay.'
Tears are streaming down my face, splatting down with alarming regularity. I can hear, no- feel the voices, whispering their dark wishes to me. All the motherfucking messiahs and their dark carnival SHIT flowing through me. What I once worshipped is now turning against me, pressing down on my motherfucking mind like some sick press.
I can feel my nails pierce the skin around my temples, the sharp pain just a dull throb- on repeat in the background of the motherfucking music that is my mind. It doesn't make a difference, no difference to the bubbling in my blood. I feel like some sick fuck, all this rage pent up against every other motherfucker in the world. All of those shit bloods and blue bloods alike, all of them are fucking mine, pawns and decoys and play things filled with motherfucking miracles. I could paint a motherfucking rainbow with the miracles underneath their pale grey skin.
No!
More pain, more voices, could the walls stop dripping!? I need everyone to calm the fuck down, and I need to floor to stop spinning. Everywhere I look I see warped walls and tilted rooms. I curl my knees up closer to my chest, and try to back myself further into the corner.
Honk!
Make it stop! Honking and laughing and growling mixed together, freakish clowns melting in and out of shadowy crevices, all of my motherfucking miracles turning around and hissing at me, recoiling from the light like some half assed rainbow drinker.
More make believe, more fake visions and voices, things that don't exist but make the world so motherfucking painful creep from the haunted hell they live in! My muscles tense up, so sore with the need to stretch and flex and be in use.. My eyes are probably bloodshot, flickering over to the corner in which my juggling clubs lay, untouched if not for the laughing faces that exist only in my mind. They're untainted, washed of any foul blood that could nudge me back into this motherfucking sober-as-hell state.
I feel my breath hitch, and suddenly the rigid tension spreading within me was directed towards my clubs. To hold them, to use them, to splatter some motherfucking brains onto the ground- to cull some worthless motherfucking trolls.
Moments tick by, ticking and tocking, but yet the Dark Carnival keeps on running, the darkness keeps on gauging out the light, the hope. They're going to kill me, they're coming to get me! Their filthy claws will dig into my flesh and leave me howling in pain! I can already feel them digging into my skin, though my blood is on my hands, not theirs.
I can't go outside!
I can't kill anyone, I can't give in to them!
…
Maybe, maybe just this once.