Thank you all so much for your reviews! Reading them makes me...*sniffle*.
I know haven't exactly been writing much lately, but I promise, as soon as I get the time to, I will!
For now, here's a little excerpt for the story!
Whenever you bite down on tinfoil, you know that you've done something horribly wrong. Horrible little electric shocks spiral down from your face and the most uncomfortable sensation sits in the nerves of your teeth, the tongue gets battered with that cold, coppery taste and it feels like you just had a nose bleed. Edgar got similar symptoms when he ate kiwi too, although he never discovered why. He just avoided eating kiwi.
When he first woke up, Edgar thought that maybe he ate a hell of a lot of kiwi because everything was hurting and smelt of blood. Each time he tried to swallow, thick globs of bloody tasting saliva painfully scratched down his throat, pulling on the back of his nasal passages, he noted disgustedly. It would help if he got up off of the floor, but he was so weak that he couldn't even bring himself to open his eyes. It was much more comfortable to just continue to rest where he was, if it weren't for the awful paranoia buzzing in the atmosphere.
I'm just gonna try to feel around for a bit. At least try to understand WHERE I am.
He slowly dragged his arms out from his sides and cautiously began to touch the floor space around him. His fingertips danced around cold ceramic tiles and traced the mastic adherence that criss-crossed between them. There were plenty of large patches of a thick protruding, rust-like substance surrounding the area, as well as a plethora of unidentifiable objects, some, disgustingly squishy and wet. It didn't help to force his eyes to flitter open for a few moments either, they were filled with tears and sweat, and without his glasses, Edgar was mostly blind anyways.
"It's for the best. I don't recommend taking a visual look anywhere right now. I'm not even comfortable with the fact that you're touching hi- erm... that."
The voice didn't seem like it was at all disturbed by any of this. It almost seemed like it was mocking Edgar.
Are you implying that you know what exactly happened?
Edgar questioned his inner voice. How could his Inner Self know more than his Physical Self?- and why did it seem to have a very distinct personality from his own?
"Never mind," He muttered aloud. Maybe he didn't want to know after all, he decided, and pulled his hands back towards his chest. It would be all right if he just curled up and slept for a bit longer.
"Yeah, sounds good. While we're at it, why don't we just ignore oncoming traffic next time we cross the street?"
Oh, just be quiet.
Stupid voice. The headache and bodily pain was bad enough, but now he had to deal with this? Sleeping was starting to sound really nice right now.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're absolutely right, you're probably gonna die before we even get to cross a street because you're too busy being a fucking MORON!"
A few sly tears skated across Edgar's cheek, not because he was offended, but because he was so stressed out. He knew the danger he was obviously in, having just woken up after being unconscious for God knows how long, surrounded by questionable materials, but he just needed one moment to rest.
Ever place where the tears touched began to sting and scream, further reminding Edgar of his situation. He was quite clearly injured. Everywhere. Never a good thing when you might just have to make a hasty escape and, since he figured he was in his bathroom, it was more than likely that he'd run into whomever was in here with him before he got anywhere near his front door.
"There you go. Back to you're good ol' self again, I see. Now get the hell up and open you're goddamn eyes!"
Edgar felt a strange sense of pride from those words, empowering him to push himself up off of the floor, even though his hands were touching things (that made him squint his eyes closed even harder) that felt like giant, ripped apart slugs, and his muscles moaned with each bruised movement, and the occasional pain from each piercing gash he discovered tracing his torso.
The lightheadedness overcame him when he managed to get off of the ground, but eventually died off with each breath he took, shaky as they may have been, and opened his eyes. It didn't help much, but he could see some smudged colour and fuzzy shapes well enough to find the door and avoid looking at the mess on the floor, fearful of coming to a solid conclusion as to what lay below him (and what he had been laying in).
His footsteps were careful and silent, like a man sneaking inside someone else's home. Sometimes he could feel something pop beneath his feet, it's innards exploding all over his toes, and he had to hold his breath to keep from freaking out or looking down. The brown blob that the man assumed was his door came into close view, allowing him to gently rub down the wood (lol, "rub down the wood") to search for the doorknob.
Edgar's heart practically slammed against his sides when he heard a quiet pounding from outside and he stumbled forward in his fear, completely falling through the unlocked door. He tensed up as it flew open with an unholy squeak. He had forgotten about that.
"Hmm...? Edgar? Are you up yet?"