Empty: Book 2

36 : Needle and Axe

JOAS

Discharging glitching blast of a shock turns the screen drunkenly blackout by a blowing bullet of a woman, patient in obscenity, disabling one of my functioning eyes. Yet again, she loves making me blind, in every way possible.

Multiple monitors on the wall, a record of multiple slideshows of graphic extinction I never plan to impede the process of restorative healing. The incarnation of death controlling another death is more disturbing than it seems, merely an episode of sacrifices where all it wants is to be caught doing it even unsure all for its own value. And that was exactly what Hecor did. 

Crossing my deserted face, a bead fluid of my desolate eyes spilled its painful transparency down the table I'm leaning my arms on, viewing the body of my truest companion over the screen captured from three different angles, through three different sequences of death.

Silence of a balling fist, tightness of internal pain parting my lips for the gasp of air to breathe in. He's gone, his physicality. If there's a medicine to bring him back, it's foolishness; as the medicine itself had devoured him all. She could have saved him, but she didn't. She has her own will to be done to one she regards of him as a hindrance to gain. And so to her, I am too. 

A loud thud did my marching feet a rhyme, in giant dauntless steps releasing heavy air until I reach to seat over my lab table made of all aptitudes. The exhibited platform where my instruments are seated to replenish the pain I'd been enduring a few whiles ago through the power they have. On one of the benches, I'm sitting under the light of a fluorescent illuminance, fingers running desperately upon the assembled fluids I'll be using to conduct my very chilly revenge. Being pressured is worst than having a stroke, it won't fit my face of overflowing nothingness, even. Perhaps, these substances could give us both a feeling we never had. 

Concealing a trace of external madness, I hid it in a way of wearing this respirator mask and dressing my hand inside these medical gloves in a right tightness. The waft of dim drifted through and through, having fun crossing my edges as my eye sharply stuck upon its targetted tube of red condensed liquid in my covered grasp, burning, dangerous as the urticant's sting. Numbers of my wristwatch glance back as I rolled up both my sleeves, leaking blood, dripping sweat, drying tears. I pulled back the plunger of the empty syringe I'm filling with the perfect medication, sounding my sharp breathing combining its seep to its maximum qualification of medical reconstruction, made to be the most insufferable.

"Smells like the most notorious substance ever be kept in a needle. Why suddenly change your mind over the painless one?"

A lifted brow possessed my blankness amidst my absorption for recreation, not swiveling a stare for one who newly came to watch and speak a curious thought. Nigel, it's automatic. My brief glance behind saluted at his improper grin, and three balls of eye darted to the same exquisite tool holding our future tranquility.

"She crossed the line" I answered him with a spinning syringe bonding between my hold, playing as our last moment while I'm stretching my spine by tilting my head circularly with satisfying bones cracking. The fatigue, of all these years, is inevitably the first beat of another success to reclaim everything I've been missing."...it's deliberate, but the same terminus, excellent for a proper punishment"