He hadn’t actually left his room in four weeks. The nurses had resorted to dropping meals off at his room. And worst of all, he hadn’t done one piece of art really. He was going even more insane. He couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. His two worlds had finally mixed. Fear had driven him to placing cardboard over his measly window to block any light. He’d busted any and all mirrors.
Drawings that had been taped to his ceiling, or his wall or scattered and ripped, thrown to the ground. Most of the canvas’ in his room had had a fist or foot, in some cases his skull shoved through them. He’d stopped eating a few days ago, the food instead piled up in the sink in his little bathroom.
He was currently curled into a ball under his bad, ears covered with his hands. He stared ahead of himself. He could see his room. The remains of his art, and the feet of everyone who was in his mind… or maybe in reality, walking around… Talking. Mingling. They spoke to him occasionally. By name they would call him.
Come out my dear boy. Lets go Thomas. It’s time. You’ve been smart…. No contact for so long. Perfect. No one misses you. They haven’t come by.. They weren’t real. You understand now. Only We were ever real. Only We ever cared… You poor boy. You couldn’t see the lies like we could.
Millie. Faye. Melanie. Ra. Ivy. They all fed you these lies. Told you they cared. Do they even come around? No. Because not only do they not care. They are not real. A figment of your imagination to tear your life apart.
He closed his eyes and groaned. “S-sh-shut up!” He screamed shaking his head. He started shaking. They wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t quit. He swallowed and let the tears flow. What was wrong? Why couldn’t he make them stop? His medication had stopped working. He opened his eyes again, they’d stopped. Maybe they had gone away. Instead he was met with the grinning face of the head voice. He stared at him, tongue poking through pointed teeth. Bright red eyes glittering with excitement.
Thomas yelled again, trying to back up. Instead he felt the long grey and red tendrils of fingers wrap themselves around his neck. “N-no!” He screamed grabbing and clawing at them. Instead all his did was scratch his neck, deep. He gagged feeling as if there was no air for him to breath. His hand tightening around Thomas’ neck, his fingers still digging deeper, drawing blood.
Just to breath again he crawled from under the bed, but only far enough for the creature of his mind to let go. He coughed and sputtered, able to breath again. He gasped and sobbed then shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t. He was normal. Or as normal as he could be. He tried to fit in despite being left out, left alone. But They were right. No one cared. Ivy hadn’t even come by. He’d seen her talking to Logan, and he knew there had been issues between Faye and Logan. He didn’t blame Ivy for going for Logan instead. He was better looking, and easier to talk to by the looks of it. He’d stopped looking out his window though, taking to being in the dark constantly.
Stupid boy. You never learn. We tried to save you before. But She was pretending to care then. Now she doesn’t. You can do it. You can join us. Travel through the Serpents Pass with us. Be where you belong. Where you were born.. Where We were born…. Why wont you just do it?
He stared up at them. All seven of them. Each weirder and scarier than the last. They grinned. Even the ones who didn’t have a mouth, but did. He coughed again, sputtering. His neck stung. Still bleeding, but he had no idea. “N-n-n-no…” He managed to stumble out. A look of anger flashed over the lead voice’s face.
No, stop, you listen to us. You have nothing left here. This world is tearing you apart. You wont eat. You wont bathe. You don’t even bother to pick up this foolish mess of this shit you call art.
That stung. It was his escape from Them. They knew it. They had never liked it. And They never would. They made it clear. He wiped his nose before nodding…
“I…..”
It’s for the best Thomas.
“But…”
Stop fighting it…
“There is so much here for me..” That made Them mad.
You need to not only learn your place boy, but learn you’re not accepted here in this fake world. No one cares. They never will.
He shook his head… He didn’t want to listen.
We have helped you. Tried to save you. Told you how to be successful here. You still have failed. You’re not pretty. Never have been. You work out. Great physique. All they see is the stupid fumbling idiot wanna be artist you really are.
He nodded. He knew. Just like They said, and knew. He didn’t stand a chance anymore. He knew what he had to do. With a sigh he nodded. He stripped himself of his clothes, leaving them where they were. He stepped into his bathroom, the knife he had grabbed from the kitchen weeks earlier still sat on the grey washcloth he had been issued, but never used. He nodded and glanced over his shoulder. They gave encouraging nods and smiles.
It’s time my dear boy... One said.
Go ahead. Join us on the pass. Another said a sickening grin lining the large and grotesquely red mouth.
It better there. The pain you will feel through the Pass will only be rewarded with the perfect simplicity of nothing. Then everything you could dream of.
He sighed and nodded. They always promised and always came through. Unlike these low lives here. No, they weren’t low lives. They just had other lives that didn’t let Thomas fit in. With another sigh he threw back the shower curtain, grabbed the knife and washcloth then situated himself in the tub.
Go on, plug it up. Leave a mess for them. That should have been a clue that this was the real place. That these ‘They’ were fake. A part of his own mind. But he felt so loony he didn’t care. He wanted to make Them happy so he could be happy.
He put the stopped in the drain then leaned back with another, preparatory sigh. He swallowed nervously then stuck the wash cloth in his mouth. He needed to be quiet. What he had in mind would hurt. Without another thought, or word from Them, whom he could see standing around watching lustfully, waiting, he jammed the knife into his side deep. He’d stabbed himself right where the scare from having his appendix removed had been.
The pain was great, and burned too much. He closed his eyes, and stopped breathing, even that sent more jolts of white hot pain right to his chest. He felt the tears well when he opened his eyes, blood streaming from around the blade onto his pale and bare skin.
That’s good. Now, tear it to the other side. Bleed out, fill the tub with your filth.
And he did. He twisted the blade, his breath catching again as he tore it, none to cleanly to the other side of his gut. Tears now flowed from his eyes, just as the blood flowed, and parts of his insides slipped out, with a sickening squelch. Things went black. But only for a second then he all he could see was red. Everywhere. It covered his waist and legs. The tub filling. He could feel it leaking from his body, and quickly. Breathing was harder than it had ever been.
Good… You’re almost through my dear boy. Almost free… They said, They told him, one of them caressing his cheek. Now… end it… you’re chest.. or throat. You choose…
He was gagging on the wash cloth. He wanted to vomit. To scream, but all he could do was sob and try to keep his instestines from slipping through his fingers and onto his lap. He closed his eyes, ignoring them for a few moments, but he was losing it… He grabbed the knife again and plunged it into his chest. It didn’t go in as easy, his ribs catching it roughly. More pain, if that were possible. He lurched forward before the red turned blurry and he slumped back.
They hadn’t lied. It would hurt. It hurt like hell, nothing was worse than this… But he could see it. The other side of the Pass. IT was green, and great. Everyone perfect was there…The pain was starting to fade, the cold hand of death settling in over him, draping that cold dark menacing blanket over him.
Perfect.
That’s how it felt now…. Before everything turned black and dark, nothing. Not even reassurance.
