note. I wanted to write something for Gaara-Sama's birthday. So this is what appeared. Anyway, yeah, this thing pieced itself togeather in the back seat of the car. I know it makes little to no sense, but I sorta...like it. I listened to "Main Titles" of the Dead Silence movie, by Charlie Clouser. Hope you like it..Hope you get it O_O...I kinda don't
. f l a s h .
Flashes. That was all he had. Never the full memory. No, that never could piece itself together. He remembered a small hand, his hand, sliding across the mirror in front of him. His pale face was reflected in the haunting moon light that poured into the room. His small fingers left residue that blocked out his face, in the light it looked almost like ink. There was a smile on his small face, his sea foam eyes were gleeful as he watched his hand create art, the ink. Spilt blood. The canvas was his reflection as he distorted it.
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The screaming, The chaos. He never was in the chaos, he was just watching it unfold around him. His hands were limp at his sides, one held his bear the other one left bloody marks as it rested against his side. He remembered looking out the window seeing police cars pull up. Their flashing lights and piercing sound waking the neighbor hood. He didn't hear them, it was silence to him. The neighbors all went out to see what was going on. There was pointing, at his house. Terrified looks, the young red head giggled as he watched them.
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He remembered the woman who had opened the door of the bathroom to see the puddle of blood as it stained the floor, she looked around for a sign of someone. Anyone who could have done this. Her eye landed on a small child, no more then six or seven, at first she wanted to go comfort him. At first. She noticed the inky substance on the side of his clothing, coating his hand, smeared across the mirror. She bit back a scream, she was an official she knew how to handle these things didn't she…
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A large hand was wrapped around his for arm pulling him along. He saw his siblings, he lifted his bloody hand and waved at them, their terrified gazes were all that he remembered of them. He remembered being asked why he did it. He never remember the answer, maybe he didn't give one. Maybe he said it was fun, it was a game. He supposed it could be a game….
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White walls. White everywhere. Bright lights, exposed. His body felt clean. He didn't like it. He remembered kicking and screaming, it was an inhuman sound. He sounded like an animal who had been locked in a cage, screeching and lashing out….
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Days blended into nights. There was no difference. He remembered the dreams that haunted him, still to this day. He saw it in his mind, dark hair matted with spilt blood. Skin stretched tightly across bones, hair over its face. It never had legs, just shreds of what looked like part of its dress that had been shredded into nothingness. It never moved, not once had it moved. It just was there. Never looked at him. Never talked, just existed. He could remember every detail. Every tear of skin, every inch of dead rotting flesh, the hollowed out cheek bones. Something from his memory, something of his memory that had been twisted into this horrific thing.
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Insomnia ringed eyes flashed open quickly darting around, taking in the room around him. The room he had known for years as his home. It was empty, or that is what he saw. He knew that thing was there. He could feel it. It watched over him. It kept him safe, like all mothers should. He tugged at his arms which were tightly bound against his body.
He started laughing. Those bits and pieces from his past returned to play every night. A mother watched over her son as he laughed, eyes unfocused as he leaned against the soft wall. He spoke only a few words. Only a few words managed to claw their way out of his throat in sadistic glee.
"…mother dearest…"