Whump prompt #1 Choking. (04)
Mentions: blood, restraints, depression, self blame, learned helplessness, and other wise torture. IF YA DONT LIKE, DONT READ DUMMY.
It was not the empty silence of dungeon cage which disturbed him. Instead it was the darkness of the rooms, devoid of life without suffering, it was the crooked floors cold which brought the pictures of the first ice over the northern bound lake he had played in as a child. The memories of the same one she had loved to sit with him at.
The images of her.. tearing him asunder. Her warmth.. her love.. gone. Gone to some far off place he could never see. A ship set out for an untamed nature a world away. A cart she was held in sounded by iron bars maybe, being dragged away scared and alone.
Just as he was alone without her.
He hadn't noticed the black husky figure approaching with thudded boots. Nor did he lift his bloodied face as the man spoke some unintelligible words or grunts (he couldn't tell or care enough to try). He stayed there. Limp in the rust caked shackles, his arms dangling above his head while his shaking knees buried themselves flat against the floor in tired chains that cut the tender flesh of ankle tendons.
Why.. why did things have to be this way.. she. She was innocent and she was his.. She was purity amongst the soulless people in the streets. She was all he had.. all that this world mattered for..
Now.. nothing.
Why?
A leather clad hand slammed him against the wall stuttering his breath and bringing crimson to his mouth.
The burning.. it was nothing he didn't deserve..she was gone..
He stared into the black mask of whoever held his throat.. empty.. dead eyes were all his captors would get.. why did it matter?
The gloves pressed harder, clenching like the ropes of a bucking horse. Air be damned! The fire bloomed in his throat, chest spamming and hands tugging at the iron restraints. His heart beating in his ears as gurgling gasp tugged from his open lips..
Still the mask pushed even harder.
Eyes rolling back, as blood began trickling from the corners of the struggling boys eyes. Vessels bursting in his ears, starting to trickle red down onto his throat.
Scratching, clawing, shaking, the shackles tore away what little scabs remained on his emaciated wrist.. his vision fading and eyes rolling to the back of his head in a final shutter of life..
The mask released him. The clanking of metal ringing out as the boy dropped to the floor, gasping and panting in the scorching life that floated in the air…
This was the hell he deserved.. a number.. not even a name.. 04.. branded into him as the demon he was.