"I'll open my mind today. And my head, too."

Timmy took the knife from the kitchen and stabbed his own skull. Once. Twice. Thrice. Death.

–

The lovely chirruping of the birds outside woke him up. Spring was coming. And nothing had changed.

Mum was smoking nervously her fifth cigarette while cramming all the documents in her suitcase. Work. Work, till your head aches. That was the only thing she could think of. No breakfast on the table, no sweet hello, no lift to school. Nothing, but indifference.

He didn't care. Neither he hoped it was a sunny day, or a rainy one. He just avoided looking at himself in the mirror while slowly getting dressed. Those scars sent cold shivers down his spine.

School, once again. His parents didn't want him alone at home. "It's bad for his mental health" one of those knows-all said. And Vicky... Vicky was just sick of wasting her life with him. Anyone was sick of wasting their Life with him. He himself was.

Suddenly, a soft little pain ran along his frail body. Sorrow and Sufferance hid themselves under his clothes. He shook his head trying to make his creepy thoughts fade away and dashed outside the room.

Don't look in the mirror, don't look in the mirror, don't look in the mirror. He kept repeating walking past the kitchen. No waving hands, no goodbyes. Silence. Silent silence between them.

The doorhandle was in his hands now, but why was it so difficult to turn? And the door was heavier, the light too striking, the sun burning his skin. Still, there was no sun outside, but only a dull cloudy sky above him and fog all around him. Anything was grey and boring. No colours, no joy, no Life.

His celestial eyes half-closed as he dived into the misty labyrinth. The wooden door behind him was shut. And a scream like slaughtered lamb filled the empty air.

–

Little clouds of sadness disappeared into the fog as he breathed. He gasped, as he felt a sudden burden placed on his weak shoulders. He couldn't give a small glance that he already felt coldly warmer. He was behind him, smirking. But his gaze was lost into the thick fog, his smile directed to his dark ghosts.

Timmy looked down, bowing slightly. He was shaking. He quivered even more as one of his sharp claws was placed on his right shoulder. He turned a little to see a pathetic smile having his way on his godparent's face.

He whimpered as his nails sank into his skin and his collarbone felt like breaking. No words came out of his pale mouth, but in his watery eyes a desperate plea was begging him to stop.

He snickered snobbishly and let him go. Shifting his hand behind his back he push him forward, just in front of the yellow bus. Timmy's eyes widened at the sudden appearance and a small shriek pierced through the air.

And then anything went black.

–

Dad was furious. And frightened.

He could barely hold the cigarette in his shaking hands, walking nervously up and down the hospital corridor.

The doctors had no pity for him. No-one has anything for anyone. The nurses simply stared at him and giggled. Bitches, he thought, lighting up another cigarette.

His mobile phone rang suddenly.

"Hello, Mr. Turner?"

"Yes, speaking."

"It's the police here. The dismembered corpse in your house is your wife."

Silence.

"Mr. Turner?"

Silence.

"Mr. Turner, don't do anything you would regre-"

"I won't."

"Perfect, Mr. Turner. Now, would you please tell me where you are, so-"

"Please..." His voice was trembling.

"Mr. Tu-"

"Please... tell me this is a nightmare... Just a fucking nightmare..." Bitter tears were falling ceaselessly down his cheeks, on his dirty coat, on the dirty floor.

"Mr. Turner, take a hold of yours-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU-... you...you." The mobile fell from his hands smashed into a million pieces on the floor. And so did Dad, crying out his pain with his head in his hands.

--

Anti-Cosmo laughed hysterically but softly, peeking from behind the curtain. He loved watching people in pain. And being the cause of their sufferance made him feel proud of himself.

'He's sick. I need to tell him he's sick. I want to tell him he's sick, he's wrong, he's a psychotic bastard, but... He's right. In his eyes you can see an immense power, an immense sadism, an immense... hate.

I'm not sorry for you, Mum. You've got what you deserved. Not that I had ever wished for it, but... things happen. And my cruel lover knows it well.

He brings misfortune to the ones like you, Mum. The ones who don't care about the others. He helps them and then... he makes them fall. And when they're all alone in the dark night, he let them cry alone. And it hurts being alone, Mum. It hurts so much I'd rather die.

And...'

Anti-Cosmo stole the sheets he was writing on and started reading out loud. He had a puzzled look on his face, which slowly turned into an offended pout. Somewhat hurt, he ripped the sheets into many little pieces.

Timmy hid himself under the covers, shaking visibly. Cold cold cold and void inside of him, but also fear, terrible fear of what was going to happen.

"Timothy..." A gentle yet upset voice reached his tiny ears.

"...Timothy, look at me." But he kept hiding under the white sheets.

"Timothy, I said look at me." He curled up into the white bed, wishing to vanish right then and there. Suddenly, the covers were torn into pieces by one expert claw.

Timmy held his breathe. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare. He would wake up and anything would be perfect, anything would be... cruel.

Burning terrified tears were running away from his red half-opened eyes now that he was covering his face with hungry wet kisses. And they felt so cold on his skin... while he was freezing inside.

Please, stop, please, please! Tell me this is just a nightmare, this is just a horrible nightmare. Tell me I'm safe with you and cuddle me and tell me anything will be fine. Please, tell me that, Mum, and come back to me, come back and tell me to wake up. You're not dead, I know, you can't be dead, I need you now, please, come back to me and help me, please! Mum...

Wake up, Timmy! Wake up! Wake up.

–

Timmy blinked. Anti-Cosmo was floating above him, sipping his tea from a white porcelain teacup nonchalantly. And evil smirk was painted on his face as Timmy sat up on the vanilla-white bed. He heard him whisper a good morning, but there was nothing good about being in a hospital room alone with him.

Timmy kept silent. He didn't bother trying to understand where he was. If it was his godparent's will, it would be caged there all Eternity. There was someone arguing outside and he could almost hear his father's voice. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to see anybody. Lazily, he rested his head on the pillow.

"Mum died." He casually spat out. Hearing his soft silky voice, his godparent raised an eyebrow complacently. And took another sip of tea. "You killed her." He pointed out. Anti-Cosmo smiled evilly behind his teacup, staring intensely at his godchild.

"You killed her." He replied calmly, pouring himself another cup of his beloved drink. Closing his empty eyes, Timmy hid himself under the warm covers.

"Cold." He whispered guiltily.

"No, Timothy. Real."