Flickering Flickering Gone
Written by: Dark Star Dust
Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.
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It was all just an illusion.
Through the broken window the night streams in softly, brushing against the frail body that lies there beneath the closed pane. Across the figure it glides, starting from the midnight locks of hair that flay against the cold floor all the way down towards bare milky white feet.
As it ghosts over the figure's pale face, shimmering streams of some sort of liquid-like substance catches its attention. It hovers above this strange phenomenon for a moment as though estranged in some sort of mesmeric pull, before continuing along on its way.
Unnoticed, two pairs of eyes linger on that very same spot for a long time afterwards.
I can't wake up…
-- + --
Drip.
It was like listening to an endless cycle of madness. Over and over again it pounded away at the cool metal floor as though trying to cauterize its shape into it.
Drip. Drip.
He wondered when it would end. Maybe this was it, or maybe there was more yet to come. Maybe it would stop when he finally woke up from this nightmare. Or, maybe, it would keep on going on forever until it drove him beyond the point of madness. Maybe…
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His eyes were wide open, staring ceaselessly at the spot where the leak was coming from. He had given up trying to block out everything that went on around him. After all, there was no point in trying to escape from reality when this was already the escape that he had wanted.
Reality. Ah, yes, that was what he had been running from.
He almost smirked at the thought. This had been what he had wanted, a place where he could have all the time in the world to go over his thoughts, and, the best part of it all, no one to disturb him!
Drip. Drip.
Lying there on the cold floor, gazing up at the ceiling, watching the drops fall one by one… it was all that he had ever wanted. Only this.
For hours, days, maybe even months he'd spent gazing at that singular spot in the ceiling. To him, it was like watching a storm. The drops would slowly slip off of the edge of the hole in the ceiling just like the clouds would slowly start to darken before the storm arrived. It signalled the start of something – a sort of catalyst if you will, of an impending moment. Then, it would slip entirely out of its shelter, only to cling to its previous abode for one more tantalizing moment before finally losing its grasp and falling towards the ground in a deafening rush.
It would descend almost gracefully towards its doom, plummeting with a sort of euphoria that it had never experienced before. Then, as it neared its end, it would emit a wail of despair before finally, it would explode into millions of tiny miniscule pieces, never to be seen again.
Drip.
He almost laughed at the irony of it all. Something so perfect, so flawless, so graceful… only to be broken when the time arose! It was all that he could ever think of these days.
Oh how the mighty have fallen! What a grand statement! If only he could meet whoever had thought up that remark face-to-face! He'd laugh and laugh, and then laugh some more! If only… if only… he could have gone on laughing forever…
If only… he could reach his hand upwards. It's not that he didn't want to. Oh no, he could reach up at any moment that he wanted to. The only problem was that there was nothing to hold onto. The last time he reached his hand upwards, all that he was able to grasp onto was that gaping hole in the ceiling. In other words, nothing.
Nothing.
That's all that he could ever hold on to, and that's all that would forever remain in his heart.
I still haven't found my heart…
He felt so weird, almost as though he was about to break out in laughter – uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. But there was nothing funny. Nothing funny at all.
Only tears.