Dissonant Form
(( Closed starter for @cartoonifiedcartoonist ))
It was incredible that he had lasted this long. That he had managed to keep his mind and body relatively in tact for almost thirty years--however one could argue the quality of his state, and easily win. Though if Wally was anything, it was tenacious. No matter how much he wanted to give up, no matter how much he wanted to cut himself out of his cursed situation, there was something keeping him going. A drive, a call which kept him moving forward, pulling himself through the murk to stay alive.
But the past few days had been difficult. Keeping his form, or even staying awake was such a daunting challenge that Wally was beginning to question if he wanted to keep trying. Had it even been a few days, though? At this point, Wally couldn’t tell the difference between a day and an hour. They had been muddled and blurred so much that he had no clue when it was day or night.
His mind was a haze, a dense fog that he could just barely see though. He dragged himself through the lower floors of the studio, seeking something, anything--though he had no idea what that was. His inky form rebelled against his every movement, his feet sticking to the ground as his arms pathetically reached for a wall of support--though there were times where he could barely reach the wall, or even grab onto it. Other times his arms stuck to the walls, just as his feet to the floor.
A sound drew him further in however; the shuffling of feet, the rustle of clothing. Perhaps even a voice, even as small as a cough? Though it had been so long, he knew that it was the sound of life, the sound of another person. Though he didn’t fully know why he dragged his melting form through the halls, unable to pull his attention from his new “target.”