Len wakes up in a white void. He's dead, but there's no eternal peace and joy in sight; he's still the murderer he was before. Is this all there is to death, or is there something greater behind the scenes?
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Hey! This is a sequel to anoth...
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"I have to peel this... I have to PEEL THIS. I have to peel me... I have to PEEL ME!"
Len had been craving some quick satisfaction, and the voice just told him the perfect way to get it.
Len scratched his arms, as deep as he could go. He picked unhealed scabs and peeled the rare unscarred skin left on his arms.
He began to bleed. Not as much as he truly wanted, but it was sufficient. The sensation of blood dripping down was enough.
Both Len and the voice were laughing.
The white floor was covered in red drops. Len used the floor as a canvas.
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Eventually, Len began to get a little dizzy.
He was losing a lot of blood, after all.
He stopped.
Len lied down and processed the last few moments. It felt great to bleed again. It was almost nostalgic.
It seemed like only yesterday he died. Only a couple days since he last cut himself and killed someone.
The wounds began to stop bleeding, slowly but surely. Eventually, Len was no longer bleeding out.
Perhaps if he had a better diet those past few weeks, the wounds would have closed faster.
Len felt a great calmness. He missed indulging in his self-harm addiction.
Nothing felt better than bleeding.
No one made noise.
No one moved.
...
Len lied there in peace.
He was immensely thankful. The voice had done wonders for his life.
First, he had given Len the greatest happiness. The happiness you get when you murder some who's hurt you.
Then, he had given Len the instructions on how to live in the greatest way. The greatest way being to rot away in isolation, away from anyone else who could possibly hurt you.
