Hell Is An Empty House by xXxItsDarkOutsidexXx
Disclaimer: Clearly I don't own Kingdom hearts, but the layout of this house is reminiscent of an old friend's.
Summary: Everyone has their own personal hell.
The author would like you to note: I had Writer's Block (the creative writing club at my school) read this. They all liked it but they thought I was actually describing hell. As in, hell is cold and lonely and quite as opposed to how it is usually described. I'm here to tell you I am not describing hell, or wasn't trying to at least, I am literally describing Axel's house. Though I like the fact that they thought I could be so deep.
Axel always smelled like smoke and cold, or at least he smelled like cold would smell like if it actually had a smell. The first time Roxas realized this was the first time that Roxas actually went to Axel's house.
Walking through the door he felt strange, empty almost. No lights were on and most of the windows had shades pulled shut. There were boxes stacked against the wall by the door, the hall closet stood open and bare. It had the makings of a damp basement.
Axel gently pushed him aside to squeeze through the door muttering an almost embarrassed "what's with you?" before proceeding into the dark recesses of the small house in search of his sister. Roxas stayed where he was a moment watching him turn right and into a dark hallway that he guessed lead to Axel's sister's room. Feeling oddly like an intruder he stepped into the front room, which was empty except for a couch, a coffee table and an entertainment system across the room. The TV was unplugged.
The kitchen was through the front room and off to the left, and curious as to why there weren't any kitchen sounds he went inside. He forgot all about kitchens and the noises they made when a mother was in one, however, when he saw a door off to the side by the fridge. It wasn't a real honest-to-God door, as it was probably two thirds the size of one and there was no knob; there was a square of wood nailed over the hole where one should be, though. Roxas duly noted the dark burn marks along the edge by the floor and how some of these marks crept up the length of the door on the left. The white paint was chipping and there was a splintered indent near the bolts holding it to the wall. Despite its appearance and its obvious not-door-like qualities it was clearly labeled in various places that it was 'Axel's Room' and that everyone would be wise to 'Stay the Fuck Out.'
So of course he went inside.
Roxas nearly missed the step down and his mind instantly brought up the oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-die gut feeling when his foot landed too low. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself.
The room was very un-teenager like. It was freezing and there were no windows. The only light source was a candle on a folding table across the room and fireplace that probably had another opening on the second floor, both unlit. The walls were a dull yellow that Roxas decided wasn't paint and the floor was cracked, off-white tile over cement. There was a mattress on the floor with rumpled flannel sheets and a couple of cloths piles near the dresser. A white lace bra was draped over the back of a dark plastic deck chair.
Roxas pointedly ignored that.
Angling himself so that a little light came in through the doorway from the kitchen window, Roxas stepped inside. He examined the room more closely, trying to decide what it was about this house and its occupants that made it feel so… strange.
Roxas wasn't a stupid kid, he was actually pretty bright, but it was such a morbid idea that he almost couldn't grasp it until he actually saw it, laid out in perfect blocked letters; just like a divine intervention had slapped the words there just for his viewing. The neatly painted words on the wall above the mattress almost mocked their own meaning, as if the person who wrote them actually had peace of mind.
Hell is an empty house.
They were dark, black on sickly yellow. The words reverberated through the emptiness of the room, spoken perhaps by his own ghosts.
Hell is an empty house.
Roxas stared at the words as they seemed to lift off and float lazily around the room. The smells hit him then, burnt pumpkin candle sent slathered over disinfectant layered over the sickly sweet smell of what made him think of anesthesia coated his throat and made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. A wave of smoky ash floated around, suffocating him. Words that smell. Roxas shivered. Can words have a smell? A taste bitter enough to make you wince and choke?
Hell is an empty house.
This house is barely lived in. The thought made Roxas' skin crawl.
There had been no one in the living room watching TV, no mom cooking dinner in the kitchen, there wasn't a laundry machine or dishwasher running. The whole house was silent.
Hell is an empty house.