Weapon was staring at the dim orange slant of light, it was turning black. Slowly slowly slowly. Soon there would be no more light to stave off the void at the door. It had been a struggle all day long, fighting against the sedative pills they had given him, and he had gladly taken, along with 2 others he had hoarded, fighting to not loss himself in the maddening aloneness, that void. It’s not like it disappeared during the day, but it felt like the presence of light sort of…. Closed the door on it. Distraction, clear figures. Straight lines and bright colors made organization of his mind a tiny bit easier.
It was heavy, the noir despair. It was devoid of the excited frenzy of rage or madness that made his psychosis tolerable… It was nothing, everything that was nothing.
What’s the opposite of reality.
He chewed at peeling skin on his thumbs, hyper aware now of his black hair falling in his eyes, he pushed it away, and the off white ness of the clean plain T-shirt he wore, nothing was as white as his skin, clinging like a costume.
You could wear your own clothes at this particular hospital; everything from wardrobe to nursing security and seriousness was slack around here, unless your only clothes were stained with blood. Then you were given a T-shirt and black jogging pants, nicely worn and soft though. He did have his own socks…. The blood soaked through the socks too but they were black so you couldn’t tell.
The distractions were running out, the last dawn light drowned from the horizon of the window-sill. Weapon looked up to it, he thought of that boy. Of Hazel sitting there during the day, fingers laced in the black mesh bars, the sun making a halo of all the wild thin hairs that nested around his face. A face like an angel, but scarred and… monstrously animated. He thought of the doll that one of the other patients here had, a little girl who didn’t speak. He thought of Hazel as a doll, unmovable and unspeaking. It was disturbing and enthralling all at once.
Hazel had been gone for five days. No one could say where he went. They didn’t know.
The void, like a black-hole crown atop his head. Seeping in and filling his lungs with black matter sludge. He took in a deep breath, the first was good, but the second hitched. His eyes were burning wet. Third breath, fourth. Fight for a fifth.
His wrists throbbed, they were numb like soft corrosion. Begging. Craving to be released. It wasn’t his wrists, it was his blood banging against the flesh of his body, there.
Hazel, but thinking of it was more painful, not the good kind.
He looked up to his bed, barely aware of the numb hurt of his ass for sitting so long.
But that would be wonderful, and he didn’t deserve it. Knees curling up to his chest, but he pushed them back down, biting down on the long of his finger. Teeth and skin, a mercy.
Hazel’s skin would taste so……………
And he wouldn’t even feel it, if what he said was true.
Distraction, warm, blood stirring. But absence, it’s cold and drained.
Words were piling up in his throat. He hadn’t spoken in days. But they weren’t going to choke him, sadly. Nothing to be hurt with, well nothing romantic enough.
He pulled his head back hard and fast. THUD of his skull against the wall. Bright pain and ringing pain. Quick sickness, gross pain. Uninteresting.
Things were slowing. No desire, no drive to move, to get up or… anything. Nothing. Try breathing again.
Too Late. Wet hot eyes again, and this time, the breathing didn’t work. Ragged sobbing. A seeping of the void, gross and lulling. The sound haunting in quiet nothingness.
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