"Í̷̫͇͎͉̩͂̃̚͠ ̵̤̯̰̫̪͌̅̾͆͋d̴̛̦̥̜̰̿̈̈́͐͜ï̷͇͍͓̞̣̃̑̕͠ rec̶̨͙̠͇̰͌̈́͗̀̈́ţ̵̼͕̞̼̂̾̓̒̓ ̸͎̺̱̥͐̽͊͆͝ͅt̶̢͚̫̬̝͛̉̀̈͘h̵̛͇̲͖̩̤͂͛̾̇ e ù̴̡̟̖͕̺̉͐͐͘r̷̗͉̭̱͈͋̌̃͗̒ y̵̡̯̳̮̋̐̐̕̚ͅ ̶̧̳͈͓̦̍͒̆̾͠t. ơ̵̺̗̯̪̣̑̓̈́̈́ ̶̟͉͈̯̞̃̀͌̅̿d̸̨̖͍͉̭͑̾̓̽͝i̶̤̟̼̜͎͌̀̄̿͝ s̴̝̠̣͚̀̒̃̊̏ͅr̸͔͓̦̼̿̍̉͌̌͜e g aa̵̢͚̟̼̞̒̔̍̍̕rḑ̶͔͚͖̎̍̌̄́ͅ.̷̧̱̹̥̰͗̊̌̇͘t̴̪͖͓̫̀̇́̾̈́ͅh̶̹̠̱̩̲́̇͂̊͝e̸̤̱͇̺͈͌͑̿̇̚ ̶̛̠̪̙̬̭̊̾̔̆s̵̨͓̦͓͆̿̀̈̓ͅta em̶̧͇̻͖̰̀̆͋̆͌ę̶̢̘͓͙̆̐̿̚͝ n̶̢̠͇̩̞̒̍͌̃̕t̵̛̰̱̩͇̤̍̎̃͝ ̶̖͖͎̮̓͗͗́̕͜t̸̯͔̟̯͇͂́̍͂̌h̶̨̜͙̯͕̓̓̎̈́͠ a t.- "
"w̶̘̹̜̮̜̅͌̇̕͝h̷͎͈̯̳̹̀̌̎̀͘. ä̷̰̱̰͈̲́͊̑́͝t̸̨̛̗̲͕̣̏̎̈́͘ was ý̷̮̜̣̳͎̈̑̈́͠ő̸̯̠̩͕̤͒͘̕͘. u̵͚͔͈̦̮͌̆̀͌̀r̶̳͈̺͕̘̍̉̀̇̀ ̶̨̝̻͓͈̿͆̂͋͠s̷̳̺͕̜̖̀̌̈́͗̉ t̸͓͔̯̝̠̉͊̎̕͝a̶͙̪̖̺̤̋̈́̇̓͝. t̶͉̺̙̠̉́͆̿̕͜ẽ̷͚̥̰͓̼̄̾̍̓ ̷̖̼̗̗̩̐̈́̀̇̀ö̵̝͖͍̻̌̽́̔ͅf̶͇̞̞̘̪͑͗͋̒͘ ̷̡̫̺̻̪̅͗͒͋͂. m̶̤̭̻̲̓́̂̅̚͜i̴͍͇̲͍̤̾̈́͋̈̊ṅ̶͈͍̳͙̬̽̋̾̀d̶̛̖̞̫͖̮́̋̒̎ reg a rdin g ǝɥʇ re. l i a b ility of the i. Nfor. mant?
"˙ɓuıɔuǝʇuǝs oʇ pǝǝɔoɹd oʇ pǝɹɐdǝɹd sı ʇɹnoƆ ǝɥ⊥"
"Having carefully considered all the evidence presented in this trial, I find the defendant not guilty of the charges against them. The defendant is hereby acquitted and is free to go. Court is adjourned."
________________________________________
Dragging a sore arm, you hit the alarm clock on the nightstand to close the alarm and turn your head to look at it. 6:30 AM
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, the sound of the water running in the sink is slowly dissipating and turning into static. You scowl at your own reflection.
God forbid you take a shower. Unbothered, you brush a hand through your greasy hair to comb it out. Actually brushing it wastes too much energy. Slowly you drag your fingers from your oily locks to your face, gently tapping on the burn scar on your cheek. It's fully healed, barely noticeable and the size of a pea, but to you it sticks out like a dead fly in a cup of milk.
Your heart clenches and you bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling. Examining yourself through half opened eyes, you feel hot tears starting to form and threatening to spill. Swallowing the knot in your throat, you let your hands fall from your head and slowly walk back to your bed. Brushing your teeth? Preparing for the day? Forget it.
You sink into the mattress, letting yourself rot as guilt and shame engulfs you whole.
The sheets needed to be changed weeks ago, you've been delaying that task by regularly spraying perfume on your bed. A sweet and flowery scent stings your nose as tears drench your pillow.
You turn your head to look at the clock on the nightstand: 8 AM
A long sigh that's interrupted by a broken hiccup leaves your lips as you get up once again. The familiar dizziness hits you as you ponder whether or not you should take a shower.
"I don't wanna do this anymore. I hate this I hate waking up I-"
Flashback
sob, hiccup
You feel your heart drop as you hear your mother's voice trembling over the phone. She's crying for you.
"My baby..."
Clenching your jaw, you tell your mother that you'll call her later, as you need to enter trial.
8:30 AM
You don't know if you feel worse or better. It definitely feels great to be clean, but the amount of crying you did in the shower has ruined your mood even more. No matter how much you try not to think about it, death plagues your mind endlessly.
All of your friends, dead.
Well, not all.
Flashback
huff..huff..huff
Air burns your lungs as you mercilessly forced your body to run faster and faster. You were shouting and screaming for help as you ran down the main street. No one seemed to hear your pleads.
"HEELP.. PLEASE SOMBODY I NEED HELP PLEASE—"
You look over your shoulder, eyes going wide as you see your house completely engulfed in the blinding fire. Flames climb ever higher into the sky, painting the night in a sickly light. A short, quiet sob of grief escapes your mouth.
Time seems to have come to a standstill. The silence is so complete, it feels deafening. Every step you take echoes loudly throughout the night, a small sound that your brain has magnified by a thousand. You can feel the blood drying in your ears.
Squinting your eyes, you can see the outline of a figure in the distance. His pitch black hair is illuminated by the street light, showcasing how damaged it looks. You shout at him for help, but when he turns around your heart almost stops from the repulsive sight.
Well at least that asshole was sorta friendly.
'Way too much confidence for a freak' you think to yourself.
9:00 AM You leave for therapy.
You lock your door and look to the left at the burnt house. Your house. After much thought, you concluded that moving into the home of your best friend, Christine, would be the best choice. That helps you retain your recollections of her intact. You grieve for her a lot.
Strangely, you don't have the same feelings for your other friends. There's a subtle sense of guilt that you've learnt not to give in, but other than that, you feel nothing else. You're not sure if you've become desensitised or if reality has simply not hit you yet.
Walking down the sidewalk, you stare at the cars that occasionally pass by. You've learnt not to stare into the distance for too long, as that makes you start seeing it. Hauntingly white skin and no facial features
It's like a short high, tricky to put into words. It's as if all of the loud noise is drowned out, and your worries are no longer worth thinking about. Oddly reassuring, but terrifying nonetheless.
It's safe to say that not seeing it is better.
You space out for the rest of the day.
YOU ARE READING
Bittersweet | Ticci Toby
Fanfiction◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥ Bittersweet /ˈbɪt̬.ɚˌswiːt/ (adj.) "containing a mixture of happiness and sadness" ◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢ A series of unfortunate events determine...
