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Alyan thought he heard someone in his house. The sound reminded him of those horrid nuns writing on the colours of the abyss.
Nails slowly making their way down the chalkboard.
The sound stopped, and suddenly the moon wailed.
That terrified him.
'He was supposed to be alone, wasn't he?'
"...Hello…?"
'There was no one left to be home… Right?'
He questioned himself; he couldn't understand what was right or wrong. It was hard to differentiate between what kept him company and what wanted him gone. The smoke he did not welcome. His lungs hated it as much as he did. It made him revolt, his shoulders falling forward as his knees buckled. His chest became heavy like gold. It heaved, rising and then setting like the sun as he struggled to catch any remaining breath.
The smoke carried something- faces, bodies, souls, disfigured and broken. With silent eyes and sallow cheeks, their jaws ripped apart, and crackling bones echoed around him. They sang melodic songs as they surrounded him. He stood waiting as they lunged towards him, and once more, he was left disappointed when they did not reach him. He knew they never would; no one ever had. However, the smell hit him. The chemical stuck to his tongue as it travelled through his lungs. One match and the house's walls would burst into flames. Marks covered those walls, and mouldy bumps formed like acne. The painted flowers were glowing with energy, a perfect version of life. The vines were not; they were unkempt-putrid. However, they…they were real, breaking through the walls in ways he could not. The lack of colour around him was what disturbed him most. It reminded him too much, too much of…
'Bing'
The doors welcomed him in. White walls surrounding the store reflected his sorrows. The only colour was the blue lights and people in green. Each packaging was different, with a stranger's face plastered on the front. Their smiles were unattainable, too wide to be humanly possible. The blue lights stung his bleeding eyes, not that he minded.
On the contrary, it kept him alert as he pulled himself through each aisle. The doctor had prescribed him something specific…
His safe haven needed to be corrected. They had finally broken in, and their faces had been changed. Their bodies loomed as their heads shrunk. Some were shredded, barely holding together; others were burnt; their sunken eyes still stared at him just the same. The carpets were next, once below under his feet, had now joined the lid of his cage. Someone had been in here. Someone was at fault. Not him, no, he cherished his home. Not a speckle of grim should be left; he was precise. He had refined his techniques.
Yet there was, and he stumbled. He twisted. He turned. Beams that lined each corner folded, and walls caved in. His eyes met it. The darkness, a chasm under his feet. Tentacles closed in, draining the light.
He fell.
He fell far.
F
a
l
l
i
n
g for eternity.
He hoped it wouldn't stop.
The thrill made him grin, but it also made his blood boil.
He was miserable without it; he knew this. He was resentful, with no one to stop him. He had been sick throughout his childhood, throat raspy, nose blocked, and he lost his ability to breathe. The medicine had been sweet; it had been his saviour and left him wanting more.
'What the hell did he know?'
How could he blame the rich for their greed? His mind for trying to find a way out, a solution? Could he really blame the world for not burning?
The moon wailed again, leaving his head ringing; the world spinning. He understood why it mourned for him already.
He had fallen far from grace. With just his mind left for company, but even eventually, that would leave him too.
What he felt now, though, differed from what he had been prescribed.
He had been warned about hallucinations, paranoia, and heightened emotions.
After all, it had all been on the label.
"Here's your medication Sir,".