Three knocks. That's all it takes - one simple sound. That's all it takes for Sunny's heart rate and breathing to be thrown off rhythm, skipping a beat as his body tensed up, instinctively bracing itself for something- or rather an attempt to. There it is again-
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound reverberated across the empty white space, unable to bounce in any wall as it appeared endless, echoing back to the same place and dissipating into nothingness. Three things exist in this plane: Sunny, the door, and the sound. He stood there, unmoving- his feet rooted to the floor- his fingers trembling, nails digging into his palm. His jaw tightened, teeth grating against each other as his; eyelids glued on its creases, sight set staring at what was in front of him: A wooden door. Nothing special, just a white wooden flush door- no panels, no anything- slightly chipped, dented, and scratch marks scattered across its exterior.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He gulped, swallowing all forms of rational thoughts he had left, leaving only this animalistic submission to fear. His breathing weighted- audible to his ears- burdened as it falters, his resolve seemingly expelled little by little with every breath he takes.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The young boy's lips quivered- with misty eyes, a lump formed in his throat. This same white space, this same white door, and the same white-faced Sunny: this isn't an unfamiliar scene, no- after having been here so many times, Sunny has already lost count of the times he had experienced this. That's why he knows. He knows the knocking will stop once he holds the door knob. He knows of the thudding sound the knob will make as he tries to unlock it. He knows it can't be opened. He knows what is to come. That's why he's terrified. Cold pellets of sweat start forming on his forehead as he distinctly remembers how past events played out, remembering down to the most minute detail. It's odd how people say repeated circumstances can condition a person into thinking it as normalcy through familiarization and think it possible for its influence to be null. It's a common misconception, the tolerant nor the desensitized are not invulnerable to suffering, and those who are numb suffer the most. This also spells true for Sunny- how unfortunate really, as he stands with his feeble legs, skin pallid and decolored by fear, contemplating his readiness to push through especially knowing that for every repetition the infliction of pain gets progressively brutal.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The white door casts a faint shadow. With weak wobbling knees, he took faltering steps; the gravity of his anxiety weighed on him with every step as his body got heavier and his head lighter. Every fiber of his being fighting back against his decision with one step after another, then another… then another- trudging aimlessly. For Sunny, it felt like the longest walk he's ever had to walk, but without realizing it, to his dismay, he stopped. He was already in front of the door.
With cold shaky hands, he turns the knob. Locked. Just as he expected. Then the knocking stops. A shiver ran down Sunny's spine as he felt them gather behind him. The red hands. A wretched sob escaped his mouth; tears fell from his eyes uncontrollably as he turned his back against the door.
In the blink of an eye, the red hands swiftly grabbed him by his hair and rag-dolled him against the white door. The wooden door slightly rattled, his vision blackened, and white noise rang in his ear from the loud collision of his head slamming against it. Weakened and disoriented, he slid down to sit- his hands clumsily fumbling against the door's surface, with only the door assisting him as he descended. With eyes half-closed, he felt a cold hand hold his cheek, gently moving his face- angling it toward the set of red hands which doubled its appearance in Sunny's line of sight as his head reeled.
"Please…" The young boy managed to croak out, "No more" his voice breaks as he begs while the red hand holding his cheek wipes the tears cascading down his cheek. His face prickled- cooled as tear stains dried on his cheeks. With tear-blurred eyes and disoriented perception, Sunny still managed to see the red hands that surrounded him. He could feel it, beings with no eyes, staring down at him menacingly- it was as if they were sneering at him. Intentionally prolonging the anticipation, leading him on with a pretense; sadism at its finest. Sunny wasn't falling for it, no- the boy is not stupid- it wasn't stupidity that led him to grovel; it was desperation. The kind of despair that can override even the most rational of minds. It didn't matter anymore. Be it degrading or even humiliating for him to beg, to plead, to scream and cry under the mercy of the red hands; it didn't matter. At this point, it wasn't even just the red hands he was imploring compassion for anymore. Anything- anybody- anyone, out there who would listen, who could save him. Anyone at all to make all of this- this cycle of torture to stop.
One of the red hands held his hands by his fingers ever so softly, gently raising his hand within his sight. His eyes forcibly focused on his hand. It was as if the hands were mocking: Look at us, look at what we'll do to you while you do nothing but scream as we break you. Sunny watched as another red hand held the back of his palm, supporting it, as the previous red hand that raised his hands caressed his fingers, softly exploring the bony curves of the young boy's hand. The depth of his breathing shallowed, then came to a momentary pause as he watched the red hand suddenly stop delicately stroking his fingers. The red hand gave Sunny fingers one last graze with its thumb before it gripped the young boy's frail fingers and in one swift motion-
Snap. Crack. Pop.
His fingers, almost avulsed, hung limply; greyish-pink bumps of the bones of his fingers jutted out from their point of attachment. His eyes widened abruptly from their previously half-opened state. Red colored his hands as blood gushed erratically from his fractured phalanges, flowing down his forearm. For a moment, the young boy seemed to have disassociated. Sunny, despite seeing the sight of his fingers hanging by a torn-up piece of skin barely attached to his bloodied and mutilated hands, felt nothing. But his brain, in classic fashion- seemingly always out to work against him-, cut it short; grounding him back to actuality... And so, he felt everything… the gradient spread of prickling coldness from losing circulation; the warmth of his blood that embraces his forearm; the throbbing and blistering sensation welling up at the very edge where his fingers detach.
Sunny uttered gasps, hyperventilating, the instant his senses returned. The young boy reflexively tried reaching out toward his mangled hand in an attempt to cradle it but the red hands did not allow it. One of the hands acted quickly and swatted his working hand away, grabbing him by the wrist, and another hoisted him up by his neck simultaneously, pinning him in place against the door on a strong choke hold. Blood splattered from his injured hand as it bled profusely from being squeezed coloring the white floor below Sunny deep crimson. The red hands deprived him of physical autonomy as both his hand and feet were restricted from movement; holding them in position. All Sunny could do was wriggle under the red hands' dominion as he struggled to breathe. His fingers and toes twitched as it spasms uncontrollably; his chest seemed as though it were closing in. Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes and snot dripped out from his nose- trickling down into his open mouth; its salty taste dispersed throughout his mouth. Drool dribbles out from Sunny's mouth as he gurgled, feeling the pressure around his neck; He feels Adam's apple being pushed deeper into his throat. The tightness in his chest worsens like he's had all air expelled out of his system but holding on to that one last breath - just that last pull of air that could end it all. It was agonizing - excruciating even - being edged to the brink of dying, feeling the most painful death sans the dying. Just pain. Such harrowing pain.
His vision started to darken. There was this intense pressure emanating from the back of his eyes- a tension so intense he could almost see it, the veins in his eyes throbbing as it constricts and dilates forming bulges like tiny little worms housing the innermost part of his eyes. Any moment now, his eyes felt like they could forcibly pop off their sockets.
Deduced to a drooling and convulsing mess Sunny's head lightened. Followed by a high-pitched ringing that echoed in his ear. His senses grew dim as he felt himself falling into complete unawareness; he was starting to fade away - Like he was almost waking up from a dream. He can feel them all waning; the grip on his limbs, the sound of his blood hitting the floor as it trickles down from his hand, the pressure on his neck- all off it seemed to be blocked off by the sharp ringing noise. Sunny felt relieved. He can almost feel it: the end of this torment- he started to count down.
Four. Three. Two. And one-
Sunny thought too soon - suddenly the red hands loosened their grasp on his neck. The young boy involuntarily gasped for air, but the sudden intake caused him to trigger a violent bout of coughing. A heavy wave of agonizing pain crashed on him as his senses returned. He lets out groans and breathy whimpers as one of the red hands rested atop his head lightly stroking his hair - contrary to its actions, it gave off a rather demeaning impression to Sunny. Bounded still by the red hands, he weakly raised his head with eyes moving around, taken aback as to why the red hands were retracting from him. The red hands started to position themselves, forming a series of steps akin to a flight of stairs.
A shiver ran up Sunny's spine as he saw something like black vapor condensing into the air shaping a familiar figure. One he knows very well. First appeared were its lower extremities: feet clad in black socks traipsing down the red hands using them as steps; thin paper-white legs wearing shorts of the same shade as his skin that reach up just above the knees, striped with thin spaced out vertical black lines. Black vapor hovered above the figure's lower limbs, seemingly still in the process of being formed. Sunny went cold at his feet. Tightness lingered around his neck; his heart was beating rapidly, unmatched by the sound of the figure's footsteps that seemed to echo in his ears. The figure's dark hair lightly bounced as he walked down the platform of red hands, his white arms swinging on his sides causing his loose black tank top to lightly sway.
With one last step, the figure stopped just below Sunny; his constricted shaky eyes meeting the figure's dull eyes- devoid of any emotion. Standing before Sunny was the very reflection of what he thought was his ideal self. Never emotional, never weak, never traumatized… never killed his beloved sister. The self that provided deadly comfort in a bout of escapism; The self that repressed the deadly truth. He who insists on protecting Sunny's mind, even if it ends up killing him- killing Sunny.
Omori.