Kaneki cracked his finger.

He was hidden in a dark corner of an abandoned warehouse he had stumbled upon in the earliest hours of the day, when he was utterly desperate for a sanctuary. Kaneki lay on the concrete, curled up between the intersection of the walls. Though the late night fog lay a tranquilizing layer over any sound that travelled the air, harsh, weary sobs of utter despair could be picked out from beneath formally white curls, now stained with crimson. The room, only defined by the rundown walls surrounding the space, was empty except for the mess of blood and bones on the floor and a sink topped with a dusty mirror.

The moon glistened down, lighting his face. Scratches inflicted by Kaneki's own dark nails littered his cheeks, but healed as soon as they appeared; it was a fruitless attempt to peel off his facades. Yes..his mask-a black piece of plastic with a red lipped smile-did protect his identity. But this mask that he wore day by day was something he could not take off.

Kaneki's eyes flicked over to the bloody mess on the floor. It smelled so good and he was so hungry, so a little bite wouldn't hurt right? Saliva dripped from upturned lips and he stretched a blood encrusted hand towards the flesh. Just a little bite, he was so hellishly hungryhungryhungryfleshjustalittlebitplease Kaneki cracked his finger.

Do you know what this is?

"993."

It's called a Chinese centipede.

PainhurTSstopstoPSTOpstopStopgoaWay Kaneki sobbed and clutched his hair, dragging his nails over his cheeks in a vain attempt to drive the hallucinations from his mind. A bubble of laughter pushed its way through his lips as he grabbed at thin air, desperate for something to cling to, something to support him before the last vestiges of his sanity slipped out of his grasp. The blood on his hand caught his eye. Holding it up towards the moon, Kaneki tilted his head. Where had it come from? Then, a sudden thought; what did it taste like?

It's okay if I eat you, right?

Kaneki froze, fist positioned in front of his mouth, and frowned. Slowly relaxing his fingers, he lunged forward and tore viciously at the digits.

"986."

Kaneki wondered what the liquid coming out of his eyes was. He lifted one of his fingers-now missing a joint-and smeared it against the salty fluid flowing down his marred cheeks. His breath caught, sharply, as a moment-just a second-of sharp clarity flashed into his eyes before his shoulders slumped as the light once again vanished from his iris'. One of his fingers twitched erratically.

"979."

Kaneki remembered wisps of gold, as yellow as the bright, fading sunset he had watched as a child. He stared at his unblemished finger. He couldn't really attach the color to a memory-not that he had a lot of those-but that was okay; he had a feeling that he didn't want to remember anyways.

A sliver of pink drool slid out from the corner of his mouth as his mouth opened in an unfinished sob. It was all his fault in the end, wasn't it? He couldn't save anybody. He couldn't even remember who he was supposed to save.

"972."

He cracked his finger.

He hated. Oh, how he hated. Kaneki cracked open a dull, grey eye and stared up at the open sky. But to feel emotion was to be weak, and he couldn't really remember what he was angry and sad about in the first place.

He let himself fall onto his side, a puff of dried blood dust dancing off of his crimson hair. It was a pretty colour, he decided, reaching up and twirling a pink strand with one of his black nails-almost as pretty as the stain on the ground. He slowly pulled himself on to his knees and crawled silently, desperately, hands pulling him towards to the pile of red decorating the cold concrete floor. A sweet aroma wafted into his nostrils, and it was all he could do to keep himself from salivating-it wouldn't do to desecrate the macabre beauty of the scene, after all. Kaneki gently lifted a glistening white bone off the ground, and pressed it against the side of his face, the corners of his lips tilting upwards.

The scent tickled at his memory, but he ignored it in favor of inhaling the utterly delicious smell that was so sweetbloodeAteateateateattEaT He collapsed in the middle of the pool of decomposing flesh and blood, convulsing.

"965."

You'll let me eat you now, won't you, Kaneki?

Kaneki painstakingly twisted his head towards the mirror, feeling a gaze. The moon reflected in the mirror, lighting the side of the mirror in white. The silence was nearly palpable, the last echoes of the voice gradually fading away.

There was a face-twisted, dripping with red-looking back at him.

Kaneki stared at the monster in the mirror, lips dry and cracking. It leered at him, arms encircled around Kaneki's shoulders, and black flowers flourished, bloomed under his skin wherever it caressed. It pressed its forehead against Kaneki's, and grinned.

A bead of sweat rolled down his face.

The bloody lips stretched grotesquely, and slowly shaped the hissing air flowing erratically out of its throat into words-as if it couldn't control its face properly. "You don't want to remember, do you, Kaneki-kun?" If possible, the lips seemed to grow even wider. "So I'll make you remember." Black overcame his vision with all the force of a sledgehammer, and red tears dripped over his lips as he clawed at his eyes.

Suddenly he remembered. And when he remembered, he screamed.

But the monster laughed hysterically, insanely with him when he recalled gold hair, gold eyes, a knowing smile. "Hide," he cried.

"952," he whispered.

I wrote a little of this each time on separate days, and had no real idea of how it was going to go. As you can see, this is frankly quite confusing. However, I hope you enjoy reading this!