Why?
Why?
Why?
The word echoed in calamitous waves, a hungry thing that grew in the dark, lonely spaces of my head, festering and feeding and filling. The only thing left to contend with the word was the crawling insanity of biological impulses.
There was no sight beyond blurs, huge gashes of twisted colour splayed over watery eyes. Sounds were bent and warped, what was speech to the rational part resembling the rattling and hissing of something like snakes to the irrational rest of me. Touch hurt; everything was too soft or too rough, with no room for negotiation. Everything smelt awful. Or maybe it was just me, loosing my bowels on what I distantly thought was cloth.
This body - the body of a baby, the living corpse of a soul I killed - was worthless.
My thoughts churned every moment I was awake, a thrashing mess of violent longing and desperate wishes for stillness. But there was none. There was food, there was liquid, there was flesh, there was noise, there was colour, there was touch, but there was no calm.
Why?
Why?
Why?
No answer came. Between the hopeless echo and the unorthodox torture every waking moment held, I feared it would never come.
But I still had moments of lucidity in the gaps, brief moments wedged in the cracks of times that felt like years. I could still picture that face, those cold eyes, that iron mask, that resonant sound of breath that shook the bones of mortal men. I held on as tight as I could, held on as long as I could. Yet this memory, too, had to slip away into the raging storm of questions trapped in this worthless skull I stole.
How did I know when I now knew nothing? How did I see when I now saw nothing? How did I understand when I now understood nothing?
Why?
Why?
Why?
It was eating me - him - both of us. He wasn't dead, wasn't gone. Not yet. His soul was still here, wailing, crying, wanting, breathing. The cold eyes watched, the mask loomed impassive and metal, and the rasping of breath filled me.
He was the true one; I was the imposter. He screamed inside his head; I wore his skin.
And then I wanted to writhe and claw and rend this body off of me, to tear myself free and float into death. But I could not move, I could not speak, I could not see, I could not hear, and I could do nothing but think.
It taunted me. The moment of clarity taunted me. Why? What did it gain? What did it get? What did it want?
It wanted me dead. It wanted me swallowed. It wanted me digested. It wanted me consumed.
The void called, loud and ringing and utterly silent.
No more why filled my head. No more biological stimulus, the signs of first life, crawled along the surface of my mind. No more cold eyes, iron mask, rasping breath.
The void called, a silent beckoning.
An invitation to dinner dangled before me.
Take, something whispered. An escape. A chance. A hope. A glimpse. Death. Embrace.
Refuse, something else spoke. Child killer. Soul eater. Corpse stealer. Skin wearer. Sacrifice. Respect.
Embrace, something said.
Respect, something else said.
Embrace.
Respect.
Embrace!
Respect!
EMBRACE!
RESPECT!
I wanted to die.
The boy wanted to live.
I always had a soft spot for children.
Well, that was darker than expected. Hopefully not too jarring a change from first chapter. Might change the previous one to suit this actually.
Regardless of that, thanks for reading.
A238
