Bohemian Rhapsody [I'm the Grim Reaper]

Bohemian Rhapsody

A/N: Chase brainrot real?? Anyway TW this fic contains suicidal thoughts/language and a bit of blood. Kind of Lovecraft inspired, well the first bit is anyway lol

...

Sometimes, life feels like a dream. A cruel nightmare. But I suppose that would be too kind, because that implies I can wake up and pretend this is all a bad dream.

I drink a lot. I drink until my vision's blurred, until the world is a spinning mess. The Scarlet Rot has spread throughout my body, blotting my skin, welling up my eyes. My weak little form can't handle alcohol like it used to. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll drink enough and fall asleep, never to wake up.

Yeah, right. As if I deserve that kind of mercy.

When Mom had first adopted me, I hadn't meant to live with her for more than a few weeks. I'd called her 'Ms Carter' and hid under her table, until she lured me out with my favourite snacks. The noodles she would buy were not the same as Dad's homemade ones, but they were nostalgic all the same.

She never pushed me into anything. She didn't even force me to go to school until I was ready. She let me stay up all night and play video games. Dad would always make my siblings and I go to bed no later than 9, on a good night.

17 years passed and, well, here we are. Mom never tried to rein me in like some other parents, instead encouraging me to follow my own dreams. Sometimes, she's proud of herself for such a decision. Other times, when I, uh, go around investigating dangerous criminals and 'sticking my nose where I don't belong', she's... not so confident.

Truthfully... I wish I had never been born. I wish I didn't have to be forced to exist in this awful world full of sinners, where ultimately all your choices mean nothing in the end. We're just God's little experiment, aren't we? This horrible plight of hunting down sinners, when I'm the worst of them all.

(I know Mom would get upset if I told her all this. I got lucky with her. Many orphans remain in their ridiculously-overcrowded orphanages for their entire childhood.)

If I met God, what would I ask them? I imagine most people would ask 'why are we here', 'what is our purpose', etc. I think I know what God would say:

You are a part of my game. You are a cog in the machine, and that's all.

Instead, I would ask them why they like to make us suffer, if life is damn pointless. What do they get out of our misery? Hell, what do they get out of our success? Ahhh... I guess I know the answer to that too. It's just part of the experiment. Thinking there's an actual answer to any of our questions is just another stupid human folly.

I liked to think I was beyond emotion. I liked to think that I had accepted the sheer nothingness of it all. But I was wrong, of course. The strange dream I had the other night proved it.

I was in a beautiful guardian. The sun was shining, spring mist filling the air. Flowers bloomed across the bright green grass. There was a picnic table in the grotto, birds flying above. A butterfly landed on my nose.

Something smelled nice. Something... familiar. I noticed a kitchen setup, alongside a barbecue. There were pots and pans, steam rising into the blue sky.

There was a man standing there. A middle-aged Vietnamese man, around my height, with choppy black hair. He wore a black polo shirt, and had gray shorts. He was humming to himself, stirring the pot. That smile... I'd know that anywhere.

"D... Dad?" I stammered.

Usually when my father appeared in my dreams, he was dead. A corpse lying down, his legs rotted away to the bone. It was weird to see him like this, looking alive as he had all those years ago, a cheerful grin on his face. Why was he alive, anyway? There had to be some backwards reason for my mind's odd torment...