Outcast

Inconspicuous Timing

This vision was rather persistent.

As real as this one seemed to be, he was trying his best to talk to the orange-haired male.

Pico didn't know if he liked or disliked the attention. He was convinced that this was a hallucination at first. A manifested figment of his inner demons trying to lure him into insanity. It all seemed so surreal.

Although, whenever He was around the other visions and whispers would cease, if only for a moment. It was as if He chased them away. Like He was a medication, except he didn't have to deal with the mechanical soulless feeling of the side effects. He was the only voice; the only vision he would see. It was addictive.

Without Him, the whispers would appear louder and more frequent. Without Him, the visions would be clearer and cross closer into his full line of sight. His sleep was becoming more affected by the intrusions. He would eat even less during dinner, consistently feeling nauseous at the thought of dealing with his inner turmoil of the night ahead.

His body was taking a toll for the worse in the process. Dark circles that already were lightly present on his pale face were nearly bruises they were so prominent. He lost even more weight without even noticing it, the bottoms of his rib cage starting to protrude from his sunken in stomach. His baggy pants no longer would fit unless he wore a belt to hold them up on his bony hips. He felt weaker than ever before. Just walking to school was an effort.

The nights were full of terrors. Every single night, he would hear them. They were always louder when darkness surrounded him. The voices were so loud it would keep him up at nearly all hours. He didn't know what they were saying, it was never clear enough for him to understand. Just hushed whispers that frightened him awake. Don't respond to them, he never did, but they were getting so hard to ignore. The only amount of sleep he would get is if he passed out from exhaustion.

The only salvation he would look forward to was waiting for him at school. As much as he disbelieved in Him. Pico knew that He was the only reprieve he could have. Even if it was for only a moment of peace.

"Ngh! Hah... Ugh..."

Pico sat up abruptly in his bed, as the near shout in his ear woke him up. It was like this every morning. He'd barely get an hour or two worth of sleep at night, only to be shocked awoke by a particularly loud hush that he could only describe as "Get Up!" It was harsh and cold and shook him to his core every morning. A cold sweat decorating his entire body, it was always the same.

His breath came out in pants, as he blinked heavily at the dark empty wall in front of his bed. Swallowing thickly, he tried to calm himself further. "Get a hold of yourself..." He spoke softly outload, as he looked down at his shaky palms. They felt near numb, as a static like feeling would clam up his hands. He tried to clench and un-clench his fingers to gather feeling back into himself once again before resting his head into his palms. Rubbing his eyes harshly, he heard the distinctive "laughter" of the sounds coming through once again almost like they were making fun of his misery.

Opening his eyes, he could barely recognize the layout of his room as he recovered from the blotchy shapes that formed from the ball of his hand pressing into his eyelids before clearing again. A shadow crossed his vision, but he ignored it. They were becoming more aggressive in their form. They were still grayed out shadows, but they were starting to grow arms and heads that would try and reach out to grab him recently. He knew that they weren't real, but he couldn't help but to flinch away at the sight when they would try and get him.

He ran a hand through his signature orange locks, the hair gel washed out from the previous night's shower. The lifelessness of his own hair lay flat against his head giving the look of bed-hair from their messy appearance.