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It was almost unbearable.
Searing pain came from his arm. No matter how much he tried, every movement was a blast of pain. His head thumped along to his exceedingly frightened heart, his emotions screaming for everything to stop.
4C does not even remember how he got this wound.
Said wound was a bite-mark on the lower part of his arm. It was poorly taken care of, parts of the wound was a putrid red and smelled of rotting flesh. Blood poured out of every exposed corner to the air, his body rushing to fix it like any other wound. Yet, 4C felt weaker and weaker. There was still pain that throbbed against his skin.
The first thought came through. What if I’m going to die?
4C shook his head. He had to survive. There was a farm that he needed to go back to. His brother was waiting for him, and the city life was clearly not for him. There were malicious things here. Disgusting, gurgling things that appear now and then to chase him down.
The pain came back, snapping him out of his thoughts. 4C let out a barely concealed gasp, clenching the wound with his other hand. Blood covered his arms. All he saw was red.
It was terrifying.
He was alone.
He was going to die all alone, with nobody around but the surrounding leafage and abandoned city. 4C was truly going to be just like–
Like who?
4C hated how his brain works. Memories come and go, with absolutely nothing but emptiness swirling around at times. He wanted to remember how he got this wound. He wanted to remember everything before his eventual death, yet his brain gave him nothing but static.
Soon, thinking became fuzzy. 4C’s head felt lighter and lighter, and eventually, his grip on his wound loosened. His heart thumped louder, faster, but 4C could not do anything to stop it. He was awaiting death in perpetual fear. The sheer terror of expecting his own death.
Short, raspy breaths escaped his lips, and soon 4C realized his mouth tasted of iron. Blood dripped from his mouth, his pained gasps soon turned into gurgles, his screams paving way to choking noises.
In the horizon, the sun slowly came up.
Soon, 4C turned.
The same gurgling mess like those things.
Torment became suffering. Suffering became agony, and 4C collapsed like many before him.
Is there not a death much more fitting than one never deserved?