When the Dawn Breaks [TBAU]

☆ Chapter 21 ☆

The world felt...

Well, it didn't really feel at all, actually.

His senses were diluted in a way, and everything was faint and far off. If he focused hard enough, he could tell that he was in pain. His head throbbed, thunking along in tune with his slow heartbeat, and his joints and muscles ached. If he focused harder still, he could hear soft murmurs and footsteps, fading in and out around him.

Where was he?

Last he remembered... he was at Tango's house? That sounded right, maybe that's where he was. Though he faintly remembered being outside too. Was he outside?Why would he be outside though, that didn't make sense. Well, anyways, wherever he was, it was soft and cozy. Made him want to sleep.

Tango wanted him to sleep, right?

That wasn't something he was supposed to do. He didn't remember why, but he knew that sleeping was strictly off the agenda. That seemed rather silly, when he thought about it. Sleep was nice.

Zedaph drifted off. He could get back to staying awake once he understood what was going on.

~ ~ ~

The ceiling was too low. If he stood up, it'd probably hit his head, he thought. Could he stand up? He probably should, actually.

He reached out, groping around in the darkness until his hand met a cold stone wall. He ran his fingers along the rough surface for a moment, outlining the shapes of the bricks, and ignoring the sticky patch he came across. He stopped, and leaned his weight onto that hand.

Now get up.

He tried to, at least. His hand started to slip away from the wall.

Get. Up.

He had to get up. Why couldn't he get up?! He tried again, huffing out a grunt as he failed to pull himself to his feet.

They wouldn't find him if he didn't get up. He had to try at least. He had to TRY. Why couldn't he do it why couldn't he get up why couldn't he move why did he feel so, so tired?

He let out a shrill whine; he couldn't tell if the sound echoed back to him or not. Choking back sobs, he dropped his head into his arms. The sleeves of his stupid pink and yellow outfit were torn and far too damp to soak up his tears.

What if the others weren't even looking for him? What if they didn't care? What if he was STUCK HERE all ALONE and they DIDN'T CARE?

THEY'D NEVER REALLY CARED ABOUT HIM ANYWAYS, HAD THEY?!

they'd left him here to die.

They'd left him here to die in this minuscule room, that was probably running out of air for him to breathe. Was it getting smaller too? It was too dark to see though, he couldn't even make out his hand in front of his face.

They'd left him here to die in this inky darkness, sitting in puddles of something warm and sticky that he didn't want to think about. It smelled metallic, like coins, he thought. Maybe there was a reason for this, and it was that they were waiting for him to die so that they could turn him into a coin too. Maybe he'd be a penny. He wasn't worth much more than a penny.

He was dying here. There would be no funeral, the others didn't care. This was his crypt and he was dying here, already buried.

He kept sobbing and hiccuping, but he'd stopped crying. Maybe he simply didn't have anymore tears, or more water in his body to do so. Gods, this was torture. The others really did hate him.