Empty: Book 2

37 : Cursed

Content Warning: EXTREME TORTURE

PANA

Docile head of mine, a container of ruling memorialization as the root of all nuisance and a hindrance of all contentment from anything I called mine. The food. The pleads. The drugs. The drills. My father. My mother. The doctor. A creator of these defective images by the forgotten past, again, intersecting the present as my heavy lids abruptly spread under these nestled circular lights glaring without an eye. This time, the trauma felt none as I thought it could be numbness. 

A soft mattress supporting my pitiful wholeness underneath induce me a sense of touch, where I lifted my suspicious fingers to ascertain if I can contend. Vividly, every single thing that had transpired remains in my brain to be remembered, with no way to be lost for its own intention.

Both sides of my ears can't perceive a sound, not deafness, but an audible fooling silence. My gaze steadily moves down the bottom of the bed to see an unknown male human sitting on a couch not too far, possessing little bodily sameness with Joas but no familiarity; sharp nose, sharp gaze, sharper energy to play with my mind.

Averting my eyes roaming to the place I'm woken, a small confined chamber inside one— all within the huge laboratory with a transparent castle of corpses living in the luxury of science I once bought early on. My basis is the small window conceived in the door with red lights scrutinizing like I'm owned. A living room located in the middle aside from devices and shelves made it obvious to guess the nature of its keeper. Walls are purely white, purely clean, and purely scented with an antiseptic smell wafting in the closed air 'causing atmospheric peace, little things to remember in this hidden neverland such as every criminal must have.

"Hi. Do you really want to die?" the stranger's trying to be polite by asking the friendliest question I ever had.

Thus for him, I strive to lift my back to get up half my portion, opposing eye contact with this human who might have done viciousness on my corrupted body for doubting my eagerness to be alive. Where's the human I'm expecting to confront?

There he is, luring my eyes from seeking with his vengeful fronting emergence, intentionally blocking my view of one left behind. The bandage is still wrapped diagonally around his face but his attire has changed compared to the last proving we're always been together. Looking at him is nothing different from when I'm looking at my own; looking always hungry for everything unhealthy. His arms descended as he leans down on the footer of the bed, launching his tired living stares to be seen closer, and alone.

"Don't worry, this ain't abduction," he greeted in a teasing threat almost a whisper,"...how do you feel? can you remember anything?"

Of course, you knew I do.