Work Text:
CLEAN SLATE
Fibres of coarse hemp tore into her skin,
and try as she might, there was something in the way
...but every ending wipes the slate clean
and sets the board for a new beginning.
Sayori jolted upright, cold sweat soaking into the bedsheets through her threadbare pink shirt. She took a deep breath, both to steady her overstimulated nerves, and to drive away the lingering feeling of against windpipe.
It was just a dream. A highly unpleasant one, but a dream, nonetheless.
She'd had vivid dreams before, even managed a few lucid ones here and there, sometimes even something , yet none of them had as much as approached the all-encompassing, gut-wrenching terror she'd felt just now.
breathe. in. out. in. hold.
you're safe.
The dim indigo light filtering through her half-drawn curtains implied a painfully early morning, something around 4 AM-ish. A glance at her new alarm clock confirmed her suspicions.
03:47.
The tail end of the witching hour, when all decent people were fast asleep, meth-heads in America stole copper wire, and law enforcement started debating the merits of a less around-the-clock career. An insanely frustrating hour.
It was too early to stay awake, she'd lose her wits and fall asleep by noon, at the latest. It was also just a bit too late to sleep safely and still wake up in time for school.
No matter how new and sleek her new alarm clock was, it still lacked one fairly necessary feature: enough decibel to kick her ass out of bed reliably.
Not that she'd be sleeping much after that... dream. The... things that happened in it were still enough to turn her stomach.
The things...
What things?
There was something rough in it and she couldn't breathe and she felt so so so disgustingly afraid and powerless in it and
Not the whole truth.
The stool was kicked out from underneath and she desperately tried to tear at her throat with uneven fingernails while
A stool.
Asphyxiation.
Suicide?
the rope groaned and grew taut in a near-instant but the drop wasn't high enough to snap her neck and oh god she'd read about this happening to others and hoped hoped hoped it wouldn't, but it did oh god somebody please help me i don't want to...
Seemed like it.
A shudder of distaste went down her spine, eased along by the cool night air sinking it's teeth into her through the layer of sweat.
Not real, just... imagined...
But very well imagined.
Tossing off her damp blanket, she got up on shaky legs. The room was still a mess.
Thoughts about cleaning up were rapidly and habitually shunted into the "ignore" category.
First, clean yourself.
The shower was hot and welcoming...
and memory faded, as dreams are wont to do.
As it did, the half-remembered dream took on a strangely familiar feeling.
Had she dreamt about... this... before?
Maybe.
She just couldn't remember.
scrub
Most days just blended together into a featureless grey mass with scattered highlights here and there, no semblance of order or coherence about them.
So she'd given up trying to organize her memories long ago.
scrub
Or maybe it was recently?
She couldn't remember...
scrub
"That's the issue with not remembering." Sayori thought. "You forget."
Not really what you'd call a revelation, but there was still something interesting about it, at least to her.
Maybe her memory was so bad that she had to remind herself about forgetting.
scrub
There wasn't anything particularly eye-catching on YouTube, but then again there rarely was.
It was just boredom fodder. Something to half-heartedly listen to in the background since anything was better than soulless, crushing silence...
it helped her feel a little less alone...
...up to a point, at least.
The comments usually interested her more than the actual videos.
That's where she'd read about 4 AM being meth-head hour in the U.S.
Or raid hour for the FBI.
The hour when people were the least attentive.
Most people, at least.
The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, and Sayori could hear the leaves rustling in the breeze outside.
An ambulance siren sounded off, somewhere across town, too far to gauge accurately...
Sayori spun absent-mindedly in her chair.
The fluorescent white of the laptop screen made her head hurt sometimes.
Right now it just dyed her face a ghastly pale tone.
The kitchen was as pristine as ever, the scent of coffee grounds in the air. A few errant drops of water glistened on the steel countertop.
Coffee was usually a bit too bitter for her tastes, but it was palatable after a few splashes of milk, and would definitely hit the spot after her shower.
That was the good part about her parents being away, not having to tip-toe around her own home like a thief in the night.
Her pathetic sleep schedule was more than catered for.
They'd been gone for a while, now.
Two weeks?
Was it three?
...it was hard to remember.
It felt like an eternity. Why were they even gone? It was work-related, if she remembered correctly, but recalling any further details felt impossible. She'd have to ask them when they returned.
Maybe call them and ask for some local snacks from... wherever.
Somewhere.
Out there.
The milk gave a comforting softness to the bitter drink. It was hot, steam curling through the air.
Acidic, flowery, hints of fruit. Light roasts apparently contained more caffeine. She thought it would have been more fitting the other way around. Then again, things rarely fit together in so neat a fashion.
It was running on 5 AM, she had school in three hours. The sun gave a curious peek over the horizon. Eye strain was apparent, like a promise of a headache in the near future.
She Googled "suicide dreams".
"A desperate desire to escape from your waking life".
Well, it definitely fit the bill,
The bill was fit.
Or perhaps fitted.