Wings Of Despair - Book 2

Chapter 7

It was dark, and eerily cold. There was nothing else, just Greg. A chill went up his spine. There was a light fuzz – which irritated him a bit – but other than that, he was left pissed off.

"For fucks sake." Greg cussed.

He felt like he was at breaking point. He dreads to sleep but can't muster to stay up any longer than 20 hours. He remembers a time in high school where he stayed up the entire night, for the sole purpose that everyone else in his year did. He passed out at seven in the morning. He knew he would be dragged to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

An inhuman screech echoed throughout the abyss; Greg clutched his ears as he hunched over. He gritted his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose. His surroundings turned completely black. Greg began hyperventilating. He could hear his own racing heartbeat, as he tried to dart his eyes towards any sort of light. He was met with a pain in the back of his eyeballs as static-like dots danced its way across his vision. His tolerance balanced heavily on a single thread of hair, as he began to scream.

"I AM SO SICK OF THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT! I WANT TO BE NORMAL AGAIN!"

There was a slash. The sound of liquid gushing through a river filtered through his covered ears. It was painfully loud, much so the wound now forming on the left of Greg's bicep. Greg screamed at the top of his lungs; pain filled his voice. Sounds of shuffling was heard, he could barely hear someone say 'please, stop'. Greg continued to wail, as he tried to inspect the injured area. He touched it lightly and felt his fingers seep into the wound. He pulled his hand away with a cry. He felt a hard slap on his left cheek.

"Shut the fuck up."

Greg tried to snarl but couldn't cough the words lodged in his throat. His voice trembled; he didn't know what to do, so he cried pitifully.

"If you don't shut up, the flame will make you. Please Greg, you felt what he did to you. I don't want to see you like this." The voice's words were almost sympathetic, as it spoke sternly – almost like a distressed parent.

Greg choked on his saliva but kept his voice to a minimum, covering his mouth with both of his palms. He could feel the voice's presence among him. He almost felt comforted, despite seeing nothing but pure void. He wasn't prepared to try and hide the injury inconspicuously, or if it'd even show up when he woke up. He should most definitely tell Yuta, but he was afraid of her leaving or how she'd react. He doesn't know why, but he feels heavy dread and anxiety from the thought of mentioning anything.

"Greg."

Greg tried to glance at the voice.

"A little to the right... No, other right. Okay stop, you're looking at me now." The voice abruptly told, before it spoke reassuringly. "You are okay. This is just a nightmare, there will be an end."

'Of course there will be an end. That'll be when I'm dead.' Greg deeply swallowed – completely forgetting the voice could hear his every thought – as he answered back. "How do you know that? you don't even exist."

The voice decided to dismiss Greg's thought, as it inhaled sharply. "That may be true, but that doesn't make me stupid."

"Please," Greg begged. "I don't understand anything."

"Same boat here. But you will find a way out. Let's just say you can fight fire with water."

Greg paused for a minute. "...I think you got the expression wrong-"

"What do you mean by getting the expression wrong?"

"Oh." Greg choked out. The voice was being entirely serious.