Work Text:
There is an emptiness that comes with loneliness – the suffocating pain that slips through the cracks and pierces you through. Simplistic tasks from day-to-day ease the strain, but it doesn’t negate it – there’s nothing but frustration and anger and rage that pulses erratically underneath the skin, bearing its fangs and sinking in so deep it’s almost paralytic. Everything becomes stiff, and the world slows to a crawl before everything repeats itself.
Death.
So much death.
An endless cycle – so much blood, everywhere; holed skin, sunken eyes, fractured bones, desolate wasteland.
The more vivid the pictures become, the quicker the anesthetic goes down. She chokes on it halfway through, feels her throat flare, enflamed, pulsing, spinning. It sinks like an anchor within and she can’t hold any of it – she lurches, heaves, arms circling her torso before all progress is reversed.
She had started feeling better and now it’s a backwards process. A raw throat, fractured sobs, spiraling thoughts, on and on and on until there’s nothing but the pitch blackness of oblivion.
It resumes.
And when she wakes, the emptiness is still there – thicker, but she’s not where she was before, and it only helps momentarily before the weight of the world submerges upon her.
Scarred fingers trail across a scarred throat, and again she heaves – she sees the blood, the girl, the tattered white smattered crimson and then there’s blinding pain.
Again.
Rewind.
Restart.
Make it stop, please— please— anything but this—
I want to go home again—
I want to go back—
I don't want this anymore—!