Tipycal disclaimer applies, meaning the characters within the story do not belong to me, they belong to their rightful owners and in no way do I intend to make a profit from them.
The story is somewhat situated in an Alternate Universe, anyways enjoy :D
He stood there watching in desperation how all of what was known to him fell apart. He could hear them talking, even make out some of what they were saying, but all that was background noise to the ceaseless screaming in his mind; he didn't know what to do or what to say, to make this all go away.
This is a bad dream, he thought, for sure it's just a bad dream, a nightmare, and I'll soon wake up, and the natural order of things will be restored, he kept repeating to himself.
He started screaming and trying to tear this reality apart, he attacked his friends and the doctors, he scratched at his wounds until they bled again, obscenities came pouring of his mouth, no one could get a hold of him, they were afraid to hurt him even further than he already was.
In the end he was sedated and locked away at the mental ward again. His brain just sort of flew away with the news; if before he had been in a fragile state of mind, this was what sent him over the edge. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't speak, just mumble the same nonsensical words over and over again.
-"your fault you fucking asshole, you were no good, I'm sorry, forgive me it's my fault not yours".Over and over again he repeated them, while staring blindly at the white washed walls; what or who he saw, one can only guess.
There was no turning back for him; the previous events had foreshadowed how the rest of his life was going to be like. No amount of therapy, or medication could ever cure this disease that consumed him and threatened to take his very life away. In the extremely rare moments of sanity he was allowed, he knew exactly what this was, what he had, despair, heartbreak, solitude, the feeling that no matter who or what surrounded him, he was utterly and completely alone, for his only companion in this life had taken his life away.
His love had died three weeks ago, from a blow to the head, where the fuck had he gotten a shotgun he had no clue, but he shot himself in through his left temple out through the right one. They had found the bullet among pieces of his brain staining the white linoleum floor of the apartment they shared.
He was left alone now, with just his thoughts as his only solace.
One night the demented lonely boy came back to reality with just one single thought, revenge. For his beloved and for himself, and for their relationship, that was doomed from the very start by those who called themselves friends.
And so the horror started, one summer night, with one deranged boy and a list full of names to be checked off.
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