One-Shot Book!

A glimpse of death itself. Angst. (Updated)

A glimpse of death itself.

Kington.

Lams.

And Funtime.

TW: Heavy angst: Death, drowning, S*1cide.

It had been three years for John, it had been two months for Washington and Funtime. They all went missing.

And now their lifeless.

Cold.

Limp.

Almost corpse-like bodies were found on the ground, with a facial expression only a theater mask can recreate, with their black tears slowly dripping down their pitch black eyes.. and the apparent void in a misshapen and clear frown. The liquid was shiny and thick.

For John it was opaque. Considering he's been like this for exactly three years.

Three years of distorting memories in that soul-crushing dream-like state.

Three years of everyone thinking he was dead. Three years of missing his own son growing up.

Three years of being a cold limp husk of a body.

Three years of an endless sad dream. Of a looping memory. 

Of a repeating episode.

Three years of him in an abusive mental facility.

Three years of the nickname Smiler.

Smiler.

The name ringing in his head like a burning dinner bell.

He hated that name. He hated- no he LOATHED it.

Three years of drawing a smile on his muzzle.

Three years of antipsychotics.

Three years of endless suffering.

For Funtime?

Two months of seeing the worst memory in their life.

Two months of watching her father hold faer left eye open and branding it.

Two months of reliving 5 years of experimentation and torture.

Two months. Of watching her father neglect her.

Two months of watching her 5 year old self wish to die of malnutrition because it would be better than seeing her own dad making sure she stayed awake for every hit, every electrocution, every drown. Everything.

Two months.. Of dying 186,739 times.

For Washington?

It was two months of seeing him relive the memory of when his best friend betrayed him.

It was two months of reliving the memory of the man who would be his husband going missing.

Two months of reliving the memory of his best friend turning up dead. Then going to her funeral.

Two months of him being forcefully drowned.

And his best friend watching him taking the cold water in his lungs, smiling at his pain. Mocking him.

King and Alex found their bodies on a cold dank floor. They woke up at their homes. They were tired, sore, stiff. John especially. It showed. Because the sclera of his left eye had gone from a warm white to a dark cool gray. The iris, with its pale green hue had faded into a deep black. It was permanent. 3 marks. 3 little lines running down his cheek. Tear marks. A constant reminder of what he went through.

They all had a feeling.. Like they had a glimpse of death itself.

443 words.