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Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t bury your own feelings. They come back, reeling their ugly heads and sharp, oh so sharp teeth, ready to bite. They've always been ready, but you've only caught their attention as of now.
And oh, do they bite.
They sink their fangs into you, soft and warm flesh punctured by the spirit that inhabits it, ripping through itself with all the hatred in the world. Shredding through layers upon layers of your own skin, catching on whatever may be inside… Muscles torn to strings, a heart once warm and beating, reduced to slivers of what it used to be. Because the inside doesn’t really matter, in those moments. What matters isn't who you are, who you could become... Only what you are.
It focuses on the externals, the wretched twists and turns of your form, skin and muscle pulled harshly over bone, too thin for its own good. Too thin to be alive. Too pale, skin wasted and rotting from too many summers hidden inside. Shapes that shouldn't exist, not on you, that isn't what you are... That isn't what you want to be, either.
Barely breathing, you rip.
…
Kel’s shaking hands shredded through his pillow’s stuffing, grabbing, and grabbing, and ripping, and he couldn't breathe anymore-- he just couldn’t, he didn't know how, couldn't remember one of the fundamentals of being alive, that's how worthless he is-- grinding his teeth together and forcing down his agony with all of his remaining strength. He finds himself collapsing against his own carnage, a small squelch sound against his bedsheets... He should be able to breathe, shouldn't he?... He should-- he should. Why can’t he breathe? He can breathe, he just needs to remember how. Thin, rotted fingers pulled themselves together into fists, feeling the sheets underneath of them.
He can do this.... Right? He has to.
You feel your heart beating out of your chest.
All Kel could feel was torment, trying to pull in one breath after another. He had to try a little harder at holding in his screams as they threatened to tear out of his throat, weakened hands gripped hard onto the bedsheets-- why are they that colour?-- and pushed himself up, sitting on his knees, shaking violently. Room spinning, Kel turned towards the edge of the bed. Forcing himself to let go of the sheets, he wiped the tears flowing down his hollowed face, feeling something else coat his face, but paying no mind. Reaching over to the edge of the bed, Kel pulled himself up, dragging himself onto his feet, almost falling… But not quite. But then, why is he on the ground?
He has to do this. Needs to.
The air slips from your lungs.
His eyes glued themselves to the fl-- No. --His eyes affixed themselves directly ahead of himself, staring straight forward to the door of his room, cracked only slightly, seeing the beginning of the sunrise moonlight illuminate the outside hall. It was empty. Grinding his teeth harder, he took a shaking step forward, each little movement feeling like nails dragging themselves through his flesh, carving into his bones. He was crawling along on his knees, bare bones and muscles peaking through, dragging across the wooden floor of his once-shared room. Empty, now.
Kel felt himself catch on something.
…
Sometimes, when they bite, sinking sharpened teeth between the lines carved into your arms, into your thighs, marking their way along your torso and your chest, they lock themselves in. Settling into the gaps in your flesh, they make it their home, theirs to inhabit and live in, indescribably jagged edges digging in.
Locked and loaded, isn’t that what people say?
You didn’t know it at a time, but those serrated blades teeth, curved and wicked they were, could tear deeper than you ever thought. Latching themselves inside of your skin, severing muscle fibers as they tore, coated in a beautiful crimson that you’ve only ever seen in your dreams. Burrowing almost to bone, stopping just short of really marking you as their own.
No one ever said a dream couldn’t become reality, though.
So you’d force the teeth down into your skin, digging through all the layers you remembered learning about in school… You can’t recall them now, though. You felt your own heart, beating quickly against the cold metal of the blades surface of the teeth, gleaming in the sunrise moonlight leaking in from above your bed. Your lungs, taking strained breaths in and out around the sharp edge, feeling the air escape you, like it has so many times before.
Only this time…
…
He hit the ground before he felt himself falling.
A horrible, cruel squishing sound underneath him as he landed, mouth tearing open in a guttural, heart-wrenching scream. Kel's throat burned. But… Why did it hurt? All he…
All he did was--
You feel the room spin around you. Can you still stand?
He forced his mouth closed again, throat feeling scraped raw, tongue dragging across the inside of his mouth. Was he breathing? Forcing the agony that covered his entire being down, Kel gasped weakly for air, choking as he gripped weakly onto his wooden carpeted floors. There was RED orange splatters across the surface of the floor, probably from--
No.
Don’t you know you’re running out of time?
He tried to push himself up, arms shaking horrendously. He falls.
Gritting his teeth, Kel tries again, rising up a little before hitting the ground again, hard. He feels as his organs slip out further, squelching against the wooden floor as his stomach hits the carpet, groaning through his closed lips. He’s… kind of tired, actually… He can figure out this breathing problem later, can’t he?... it’s a school day night, and…
and he has…
class…
…
The clock has stopped ticking for you.
...
This time, you won’t get any air back into your lungs.
Your hands stained with crimson, gripped onto the carpeted floors, only in your own mind. Sprawled across the wooden floor, your guts hanging out of your abdomen, a pair of serrated kitchen knives sitting on your bed, sheets thrown haphazardly onto the ground.
In some other world, you hear the front door open quietly, bags being placed down by whoever opened the door.
A room coated in blood, the smell of iron wafting through the house, through the cracked bedroom door. The sun rising over the horizon, footsteps sounding out through empty halls.
The footsteps silencing, replaced with the slow creaking of a door.
Your brothers scream as he falls to his knees in front of you.
…
But time moves forward.
…
Somewhere, a cactus succumbs.
…
The rose wilts, too.