oneshot -- Sometimes... I... I slip. There's static and a flash of red, and the next thing I know, the bathtub is filling to the brim with water. Water... Mixed with my own blood. I'm terrified. It's like a living nightmare that I can never, ever escape from. My trembling fingers would carress the tiled walls. I'd feel porcelain and then, and then... There's always the slippery feel of liquid. All too familiar liquid. The entire room is coated in red, and I always close my eyes after I catch a glimpse of the horrifying scene. I'm scared. Too scared to move. I can only hear my own shuddering, the water hitting against the inside of the tub. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours... Into who knows when. It's an endless moment of trepidation, a trigger I don't wan to pull. It's constant paranoia. A single touch from a soft breeze, and I'd flinch and scream and yell and kick and— And scratch. There are scars etched everywhere on my body like some canvas for a delusional masterpiece, a grotesque and macabre living artwork, something I can't stand. It's torture, always. I'm always sitting behind those teal curtains, everytime those blackouts occur... And whenever I wake up from what seems like oblivious neverending bliss compared to this sick reality, or what I assume is reality, everything is still. Silence washes over me and I can only mumble and cry and hug myself. The feeling of blood is so foreign yet familiar to me. I detest it, just hate hate hate it! But there's no escape. You gently turn off the tap. The water is still overflowing and there are puddles of water on the floor but you can't stand to look at the scene. You can drain the bathtub, and stare at the drain and watch as the water swirls and slowly disappears, but you'll hear, you'll hear the roar. You can only clutch your ears and grab at your hair to make it go away, but it only infuriates you. Why are you so damn useless? You can't do anything, just sit there amd cry, cry like a damn baby. It's what the kids at school always make fun of you for. They do it, they drive you insane. It's not just them, it's your family. Negligence, constant neglect from your dad and even your busy mom. You've got no one to turn to in your fits of madness and rage, no one to calm you down. You're high, screaming, at your breaking point. And there's no one to hold you back. drip No... No... It's not true. I'm happy. I'm... I'm happy. I'm happy I'm happy I'm— Not. I'm just deluding myself into believing everything's alright. Nobody understands me! Nobody can help me! WHY WON'T ANYONE LOVE ME?! I'm frowning, oh God, I'm crying again. Stop it, stop it! She'll hear you. There's a monster inside your head, screwing with you. She's there to make you vulnerable, to crush your soul, your sanity, everything you stand for. Even though you've drained away the fear, the hatred, a bit of it's still there. Hugging at your body with droplets of water and blood. Open wounds and blood, everywhere. Oh God— Oh God it's fucking everywhere. You're too scared to even move. You feel something slipping down your shoulder, down your side, and- drip Onto the floor of the bathtub. It's been nearly hours since I've been in here. This... This hellhole that deprives me of my sanity. I'm trembling. Is it from the fear, or the cold? Even now I'm slipping away. I'm tired. Oh so tired. I want to sleep. Forever. And this is the worst part. Everytime, every fucking time, in my most vulnerable state after these episodes, I inch towards the scissors from the side, and grab them. I never do it. Just hold the scissors and feel the blades and admire how the the metal just gleams, but now, now you can't handle it anymore. 4 years, 6 months, 3 days, 16 hours and 23 minutes since you started this nightmare. You never lost track of the time. But now? Now you don't have to deal with it anymore. -- This is shit, needs so much more angst, but I'm lazy and can't work on an empty stomach.
I've got a question for all of the readers on FF. Do you always say you like the story when you don't even understand? :| If so, then that's pretty damn sad. Just saying.
Yay. ;uuuuuu; I'm just going to make an input here... I switched between POVs intentionally. This oneshot is about this girl with problems. A lot of problems. The pressure keeps building up and she's at her breaking point, dangling off the edge, fingers slipping. She has these episodes, blackouts, and whenever she wakes up she's in the rotting bathroom in her house. These fits scar her, of course, and she has a phobia. A phobia of blood and water. And whenever she sees it, even a tiny droplet, she loses it and goes hysterical, and that's why I switched POVs. To describe how helpless she feels at these moments of vulnerability. I guess I didn't capture the ending to well. To be honest, I originally wanted to describe her last moments but I didn't think I could really capture it, since she'd probably go full on cray cray and be oblivious to almost everything around her. And since my writing technique for writing characters by putting me in their shoes, that didn't seem possible, so I left it at that. Bluh.
And whether she's full on cray cray (mentally insane) or just barely escaping insanity is up to you. :L