The Boy With The Blank Stare: Future

Chapter Twenty One: Veil

TW: Self Harm, Mentions of Nausea, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Disillusionment with Reality and Self. Read at your own risk.

Ouma's POV:

The trees were dark with an old weathered look, yet appeared as though made of ash if even the slightest breeze struck them. Despite their fragility, the woods still presented a large and omnipotent labyrinth of a twisted creation. The sky had been painted this time in a monotonous color palette as if the moon which now stood as a scarlet fixture had stolen all the color it had left to provide. The stars in the sky shined above as if fireflies with how fleeting and dim they could be at times, yet seemed to observe my struggle.

Cuts stung my legs as I leaned all my weight on one leg trying to find my way out of the pandemonium to the cliffside, the darkness continued to beckon me as I tried to ignore the chorus, paying close attention to the path ahead of me and nearly jumping out of my skin with the slightest noise in the otherwise silent forest. It was too quiet, even.

They screamed.

Rough bark grabbed at my skin, pulling me away from the path as I tried digging my feet into the path and clawed at the trees, yet they only seemed to break off my grip as the branches and leaves cut into me like razor blades. I screamed louder as the branches wrapped around my mouth silencing my cries for help, vines bonded my body tightly, as a dominating group of figures stood out amongst the tree lines...no part of the treelines.

The wrinkles of the trees led into faces, faces of long-gone faces, faces that had begun fading into memory. Their deep-set eyes stared into my own as the shouting of the trees finally made sense, finally became clear. They were the panicked cries they had made before life was taken from them, begging for mercy and their grief every time one of them fell. As my friends stared at me I pleaded as much as I could.

But they didn't seem to care, as their cries only became louder and the noise began making my ears bleed, as the vines finally strengthened their grip on my neck, as I tried to claw at the vines the world faded to black, as the nine trees, nine people began laughing-

I trusted you, I always trusted you, so why...

I gasped waking up as I reached for my throat taking in big breaths of cold air that revived my lungs. Warm sticky sweat beaded from my forehead as I leaned against the bed frame only to be met with a cement wall. I paused confused before I remembered where I was, or the lack of knowing where I was.

I knew this was a mistake.

Water dripped down, a slow crescendo as I leaned my head against the cold walls. Soft plush blankets shielded me from the cold chill of the room as I wrapped myself tighter in hopes I wouldn't have to return to the repeating dream again. Wouldn't have to face him again, wouldn't have to hear his soft tone, wouldn't have to listen to that same voice that once proudly claimed that I was the villain of the world now address me as if I was a pitiful child. Couldn't he just pick one? Could anything in this world try to be consistent for even just one thing?

I give up. I can't fix you.

I dug my fingernails into my skin drawing blood, the stings of the wounds providing brief periods of relief, perhaps there could be consistency after all. I laughed at my own pitiful joke as the sound of the dripping faucet fell methodically. Chasing away any hopes of rest or endless nightmares again, yet kept picking at my agitation and annoyance as I covered my ears and tried to shut out the noise.

How could you?

I bit my lip tighter as I buried myself further, as I felt dry sobs escape me. My stomach was cramped again from the food and drink, it seemed whenever I ate anything I would throw it up, only tiny sips of soup managed to stand the test of time. Soup that always tasted vile, despite the way it seemed to be meant to comfort. Warm soup that had been meant to drive away from the aching chills through my body, had only left me with bitterness and resentment, it felt as if each bite was poison or an act of betrayal. That soup brought up foggy memories of a calm and loving mother, of a mother who never dreamed of hurting her son. Of a father who used to come home, of occasional laughter at dinner.