Content Warning: This post contains depictions of lab/medical whump, nightmares, and syringes/forced injections. Proceed with caution.
Hiya! Melancholy here. Here’s a little short thingy I wrote a while ago. I’ve been procrastinating posting it because I kept seeing new things I wanted to change but at this point I just need to get it out of my hair- Better for the world to see a sneak peak of how I like to traumatize my characters <3
⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎...↺... ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!⋙
Achille lay strapped to the cold, sterile table, his hair damp with a sheen of sweat, his heart racing in terror. When he peered around, tools and medical instruments gleamed menacingly in the harsh fluorescent light, and the figure looming over him morphed and shifted like a shadow in the night. But Achille knew better; it was the silhouette. One of the doctors perhaps? Ah, his features obscured by darkness, yet his presence palpable, and it held some eerie resemblance within him.
Now, Achille’s fear of needles had always been a torment, a phobia that gripped him with its icy hold whenever he even glimpsed the dull plastic of a maldita syringe. Now, seemingly glued into the unwelcoming cold of the cuffs strapping him to the table, that fear manifested into one cruel reality.
That malevolent... thing, that fantasma approached, wielding the instruments of torment like weapons of war. Achille tried to plead and beg for him to at least sleep, but his mouth was shut as if by invisible hands. Panic surged through his veins as the first needle pierced his skin, sending waves of agony coursing through his body. ‘Ayúdame...’ Someone had to be able to, right?
Each prick felt like a betrayal, a violation of his very being. The doctor's hands were relentless, probing and prodding, tearing flesh and shredding sanity with every slide of that metal into his skin. Achille writhed against his restraints. His figure straining against the cruel bindings, his throat strained from wanting to sob from each sensation, but every bit of it was futile.
Time lost all meaning as the torment dragged on, each moment stretching into an eternity of numb suffering. Tears mingled with sweat on Achille flushed cheeks as he pleaded for release, for it to end. But the doctor simply remained silent, his form a dark specter against the stark backdrop of pain.
Just when Achille thought he could bear no more, when his mind teetered on the brink of oblivion, the darkness began to recede. The doctor's figure wavered, flickering like a dying flame until all that remained was the cold, clinical reality of the laboratory.
Achille gasped for air, his chest heaving with exertion as he blinked away the remnants of the nightmare. His body trembled with residual fear, the memory of agony still fresh in his mind. But as he surveyed his surroundings, he realized the truth: it had all been a dream. But seeing where he was…
