Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloid or the song Gallows Bells in any way, shape of form.
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"I know for a fact that you're not crazy at all…"
Sometimes I wish that instead of gray, this cell were blue. Because then, I could look up and endlessly hope. But that'd be stupid. I have nothing left to hope for.
No – that's a lie. I hope that one day I'll remember. Because honestly, that's the most frightening and painful part out of all of this. Remembering or crying – that's bearable. It's the fact that I don't remember what happened. What did I forget?
They've been in my cell for the past hour or so. Or at least, that's what it feels like. It's a bit hard to tell time without clocks after all…
They've been 'interrogating' me this entire time. It's more like accusations really. They keep asking 'why' and I keep reminding them that I don't remember. They don't believe me. I'm not surprised and quite frankly, I'm irritated. I know they're going to kill me. They know they're going to kill me. So why go through the pretenses? Why bother –
…..I have to admit, the first kick was swift. I knew it would happen eventually but I didn't see the first coming until it was too late. Ah. There's the second. And the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eight….ah. I lost count. Well, there's no point in counting now, is there? It's not is if my 'interrogator' is going to stop anytime soon.
This must be my punishment for continuing to pretend. I pretended to not notice the bruises and now those very bruises are blooming on my skin. Hmph. How appropriate.
But oddly enough, this seems all familiar. Like this happened before. Like I've seen this man before. Did I?
"YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT! YOU DARE STEAL MY FIANCE!?"
Yes, those were the words, weren't they?
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