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Glisten had done his makeup up to be much more extravagant than it usually was. Glitter, swirling eyeliner, the works. It had been smudged, though. He had cracked under the pressure earlier and burst into tears when the distractor got the twisteds away from him.
His entire team was dead, and he reeked of jealousy. The reason he had agreed to come down here in the first place was to self sabotage. Now he was the only one left alive.
They would all be back soon. So would he, after he went through with this. The elevator only went one way, after all. Down. But he had a rough week, and sometimes a bite of the raw, bloody meat of death was all he craved.
He would wake up again. That was the hard part. The aching of his body as he pulled himself upright. The lights in his room no brighter than normal, and still so blinding. And nobody to sympathize for him, because seven of his friends had come down with him and met the same fate.
He would have just died on the last floor, but Goob had been the only one left, and he hadn’t made it to the elevator in time. He resented him for that. Goob let everyone die but him. Glisten was trying to get killed!
Glisten wished he had his own mirror, so he could fix his makeup. He always preferred to look nice when he was going to die. He wore his favorite sweater, sparkling with golden shimmer, and he tied his bow in a much more complicated manner than he usually did.
He felt out of place. Shredded skin beneath bedazzled cloth writhed and itched. He pulled up his sleeve and tried to scratch at wounds hidden under bandages. The irritation, a reminder of his failed attempt at curbing these self-destructive urges.
The floor opened up and Dandy’s makeshift shop emerged. Glisten quickly pulled his sleeve back down and approached.
Glisten spotted the air horn and scoured in his pocket for tapes he needed.
“Are you sure?” Dandy’s voice masked concern.
“Yes.”
“You’ve got nobody to distract for. Why do you need an air horn?”
Glisten looked up at him for a moment. “I wasn’t supposed to make it this deep. I’m not supposed to be alone.”
“Suppose, suppose. You can’t just come down here to kill yourself every time you feel sad.”
“What do you suggest I do? It’s not like anybody is going to mourn me. There’s nothing to mourn.”
“Think about your team. Every time you come down to die, they’re left missing a great extractor.”
“My team is already dead.”
“I think some of them are getting concerned seeing you stand there as you let yourself be mauled so often. Maybe it’s time you find a better coping mechanism.”
“If I stop doing this, I’ll go back to stress eating. I already had to starve all of that weight off, and I don’t think people want me to do that again.”
“What would Rodger think of the person you’re becoming?”
“Don’t guilt-trip me.” Glisten threw the tapes on the counter and snatched the air horn from the pillow. “Good riddance, will you let me die in peace?”
“We have enough of your twisted self running around.”
“Then let this be the last time I die. I’m tired of waking up,”
“Glisten…” Dandy frowned. “You surely don’t mean that.”
Glisten ignored him, facing the large metal door.
After a few seconds, Dandy descended back into the floor, leaving the mirror alone in the elevator.
Glisten hated how angry he got at times like this. Anger was exhausting, and he was tired enough of just getting out of bed.
The elevator opened to a well lit warehouse. He stared out for a moment, waiting to see if the lights turned off. They didn’t. That made this much easier.
Death had been the plan even before he got in the elevator, but suddenly anxiety filled his body. He felt weaker, his throat stung, and he wanted to fall down and cry.
He was alone. He was always alone. Nobody should see this anyway, but it hurt that nobody was with him.
His finger trembled on the button of the air horn. The loud sound cried out, and he flinched a little. The used canister fell from his hand as he closed his eyes and waited.
But nobody came. That made this much harder.
He searched the floor for capsules that might hint as to why he was still standing. He found a small pile. One for Connie, one for Razzle and Dazzle, and one for Rodger.
It was easier to accept death than to search for it. Especially at full health, his body unscathed, forgiving wounds he inflicted onto himself. Maybe Dandy knew that, and put him here on purpose. If he had that kind of power.
He looked for any one of the twisteds, biting back tears. He hated this. He wished he had someone here. They had all left him behind. They were all in their warm beds, coming too, as he looked desperately in the face of every twisted, trying to recall the chilling eyes of death.
He finally spotted a spectre, shimmering, a pale blue disruption of the buzzing white lights, drifting towards an empty machine. The rushed toward it, a cloud of sparkling smoke bursting and a slight creak as the handle turned itself upside down.
He looked at the flashing light for a second before trying to turn the handle.
Connie burst from the machine, clawing at his chest, leaving two large tears in his sweater and himself. She promptly disappeared, drifting away once more.
Glisten ignored the blood that oozed from his body. This sweater would be stained now, but that was fine. He just needed to get attacked two more times. Then he would die, and he could feel better.
The trickle was unpleasant. He did have a medkit on him, courtesy of Toodles insisting he purchase one, but he had tried to simply clean wounds before, and he always ended up getting healed.
He spotted red vines in the distance and headed towards them. He didn’t know if he could stomach running in them on purpose. He always did though, his legs were just a little shaky when he did. He closed his eyes and ran forward, hearing the hiss as they woke.
One vine wrapped around his neck and another burst through his stomach. He gasped, his survival instincts kicking in as he grasped at his throat. He pulled it off and escaped the circle, collapsing on the ground.
He choked on ichor, a flavor that could truly only be described as thick and pure bitterness. He had stayed there, he could be dead by now. That was all he wanted, death.
Maybe he didn’t want to die. He just didn’t want to be tired anymore. He wanted to live happily. He wanted to experience life. The problem was, no amount of sleep, good hydration, healthy eating, social stability, nothing in this world could cure his illness. He was born sick, born worrying, and he taught himself to crave the spillage of his own blood. There was no fixing him. All he could do is die, and pray that this time he wouldn’t come back. So he pulled himself to his knees and searched for the corrupted version of his lover. It was only fitting that someone so willing to help him feel better would help him with this. The real Rodger would never accept such a burden. The only burden he accepted was Glisten himself.
A capsule in the distance called to him. He stared at it for a moment, trembling, his legs ready to buckle under him. His tears had been running, leaving his face feeling almost sticky. He knew he looked ugly. He always looked ugly. He just pretended that he didn’t. And everyone else pretended that they didn’t see it.
He walked slowly. Every step hurt. There was a gaping hole where his stomach should have been, blood pulsing out with every pound of his eternally beating heart. He felt dizzy, coughing up blood as it dribbled down his chin.
Within reach, he leaned over. The glass, albeit fake, was cold against his hand like the real thing.
A man burst from the ground, towering over the pathetic, weak creature before him.
Its red eye stared at him for too long. He was trying to give Glisten a chance to escape, or at least that’s what it seemed like.
Glisten knew this might be the Rodger that had just died a few floors ago. Still having some weak, fading sense of self. Not wanting to be the final blow. Rodger would not want to hurt Glisten, but this was much less than Rodger. Glisten waited for the ichor induced lust for blood, staring up fondly.
It overcame Rodger, some glimmer in his eye fading at a moment’s notice. Glisten smiled.
“Thank you.” He whispered, a single finger pointing right at his golden framed face.
Death tasted much sweeter like this.
His eyes cracked open. Unwillingly. He felt warm beneath his sheets. Unwillingly. He was alive.