Pain. Crushing, tearing, unstoppable pain. The lavish bed and dark blue duvet provided no comfort. It provided no safety. Whatever it was, the creature within him, clawed for release and split apart his insides with sharpened claws. Thomas was in agony, there was no other way to describe it. Each wretched breath shot a jolt of fire through his veins that cobwebbed through his skull and down his arms, torso, and legs. The glossy sheen of sweat on his face and neck reflected the pale starlight and dull moon. It used to make him so happy for reasons he still couldn't comprehend, but all that remained now was a writhing empty mass that filled him with unbearable loss.
Thomas sobbed aloud when sirens wiled from outside his window. Police cars passed by the house, followed by a firetruck and ambulance. He gasped audibly a the ringing that it left in his ears, more like a violent strike that make him numb to sound. Thomas clutched onto the sheets beneath him and stared panting at the ceiling.
"Oh God, let it end!" The voice tried to sooth him. Let it go, Thomas. Give me your mind. I don't want to do this to you.
His arm stretched desperately for the royal oak bedside table. On it was the metal desk lamp, several documents, reading glasses, and a half-empty orange plastic bottle. He reached for it, knocked papers to the ground but managed to retrieve two light blue tablets and swallow them dryly. His head fell back against his wet pillow. The Fiorinal did not numb the pain and the fire continued to burn.
There was never a time when it had been this bad. There was never a time when it had felt so unrelenting. Thomas clutched at himself and begged for it to stop, but the pain spiked instead, driving him roughly into the mattress and eliciting a sharp cry from his cracking lips. Thomas thought of heartbreak. He thought of Laya's disappointment when he resigned, of Danielle's back when she turned away, of the exquisite cradle across the hallway that was to belong to a brother he'd never had. Thomas thought until he couldn't of the pains he'd endured and knew that this was twicefold.
Sight was a gift that people so often took advantage of. It was a miracle of the world and Thomas's exploded in color. His vision became bulbous and tones he'd never seen before burst before his eyes, painting his room a psychedelic carnival of violet. He became aware of particles of dust inches from his exhausted face and shades of spectacular colors oozing and dripping and outlining his bedroom. It terrified him.
Thomas forced himself to still, to breathe. He tried to clench his jaw and to keep his lips pressed together. He was horrified that if he were to make a sound that he wouldn't be able to make it stop. Children do not know if they are screaming or crying. The way that they feel and the sounds that come out are all the same thing. Thomas screamed in a hoarse voice until his lungs emptied and there was silence. He gulped for air and screamed again.
The pain striked him again and again until he was crying. He wailed loudly behind closed eyelids and understood that aching in the darkness would do nothing to weaken a fire's fury. He heard the thing's low voice grinding between his shrieks. It was murmuring to him, telling him to sleep, telling him to breath, telling him that it needed this and that it wasn't going to hurt the next time.
His pores split apart in the wake of hollow white bones that burst from his skin. Thomas arched his back and his voice was a shrill note that repeated over and over. His eyes sunk into his skull, his skin became an accretion of useless flesh that collapsed in on itself, his fingers dissolved to useless nubs. It stole his brain, gently nudging his consciousness away for possession, but he couldn't fight back.
Bones splintered and reshaped themselves. Blood dripped from the cracks in his arms. The transformation was an ugly thing and Thomas turned over, falling from the bed and onto the ground to escape. 'Stop!' his hardened black mouth stretched from his chin and curved downwards. He moved his arms and air pocked under the blossoming vanes and barbs, picked up momentum, and collided into his desk.
He remembered how to fly and crashed through the pellucid glass and into the stars.
