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On the dinner table, BASIL sighs, his gaze towards the corridor, looking nothing particular. A dull pain resides in his head, a wave of tiredness over him.
He stands up, walking towards his room, ignoring the calls of POLLY telling him to eat. Not like he could hear them anyway, overwhelmed by extreme pain and nausea. He felt like he would vomit the moment food entered his stomach.
He opened the door to his room, and closed it before falling. His heart aches, and of pain he cries. Oh the lonely wanderer, scared to be devoured. He looks around and sees things around him twirling, swirling, and becoming nothing. Danger is all around him, as a tragic event repeats.
Again and again, he screams. He cries, and cries, until there was nothing left, a canvas made blank.
When everything was over, numbness washed over. His dull gaze towards the floor, feeling nothing in particular. Staring at the time, he realizes hours have passed since them. He picked himself up, walking out his room. Looking towards a mirror, was a face he couldn’t recognize. This was not his face. This was not his face. This was not his face. This was—
Was it?
…
Looking towards the mirror once again, a blank and empty face stared back. He feels as if he was a mere observer in this world of wonder. A lifeless and foggy experience, one without salvation.
…Huh? Was that always there?
BASIL stared at the cracks in the mirror. There was… a strange sensation in his? hand. He looked down, seeing blood drip down. It wasn’t as painful as expected… Curious. ‘Is that to be expected after experiencing years of bullying?’, a voice in his head says, a tone of child-like yet jaded curiosity in the voice.
He opens the sink, letting water flow through. He cleanses the blood, rinsing it with soap afterwards. As he applied alcohol, a stinging sensation could be felt. Yet it was met with no reaction, seeing how used he was to this.
Feeling another wave of fatigue, he walks back to his room. He treads carefully, not making a noise in fear of being heard. By who? He doesn’t know. He could feel a presence behind him, yet there was nothing there. He could hear a voice whispering, yet there was nobody.
Opening the door, he felt, and saw, a figure of someone supposedly dead. He did not scream, as he was used to this after the same thing happening over and over again, repeating and repeating. Brushing past the figure, he walks towards the bed. The figure, unlike any previous hallucination of her, smiled and giggled, before disappearing. Strange. Was that a ghost?
He lied on his bed. Exhaustion took over him, yet he could not sleep. He knew that if he stayed up, his hallucinations would get worse. But if he slept, his dreams would overwhelm him with disturbing imagery. There was truly no escape.
A wave of nausea, and a wave of guilt. Both seemed to go hand in hand. The night passes by, and another day begins. A weary sigh escapes a tired BASIL’s mouth. This day would only repeat.