The mute partypooper

Healing my injuries

"Sit there and don't you dare move" the partygoers commanding voice echoed through the room. Their finger pointed forcefully at a bright red couch, and I dared not disobey. Although the room was in disarray, it still managed to exude a sense of coziness and warmth. Glitter and confetti sparkled, reflecting the light emanating from a captivating blue lamp positioned across the room.

Trembling uncontrollably, I watched as the partygoer rummaged through the shelves, a sense of urgency in their movements. The anticipation weighed heavily on me, and I felt the onset of a panic attack creeping in. As they found what they were searching for and began approaching me, I closed my eyes, unable to bear the thought of what they might be holding.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on my arm startled me, and my hoodie was lifted, revealing the wound that still throbbed with pain. Adrenaline and anxiety masked the discomfort, but instinctively, I tried to pull my arm away from the partygoer's grasp. Panic began to consume me, intensifying with each passing moment.

"It's okay, don't be afraid. Trust me just open your eyes," the partygoer reassured me, gripping my arm firmly yet tenderly. I reluctantly opened my eyes and looked at them. It was then that I noticed they held bandages and wound sanitizer in their hands. "I wasn't lying when I said I would take care of your injuries," they explained, their focus on carefully bandaging my arm. Relief washed over me as I realized they weren't here to harm me but rather to provide help and support.

How did you know I wasn't truly human." I asked in ASL. "At first I thought you were." The partygoer replied as they were trying to concentrate on tying the bandages. "But after awhile of watching you I then realized that you weren't human" the partygoer explained. "Anyways what are you even doing here? Everybody thinks you're dead" he stated.

"It's complicated," I signed in response, struggling to convey the complexities of my situation. "Well, lucky for you, I enjoy hearing long stories," the partygoer replied with a smile.

And so, I began recounting the harrowing tale of what had transpired during the fun war, sharing the experiences of myself and others who had become entangled in its chaos. As I finished my narrative, the partygoer completed the bandaging of my wounds. "Thanks" i singed in ASL as I was appreciative of their assistance, even though they were partially responsible for one of my injuries.

"You were somewhat fortunate to come across me instead of another partygoer," the partygoer asserted, acknowledging that not all of their kind would have shown the same compassion. Their words carried a hint of darkness, causing a chill to run down my spine. "Don't misunderstand me; I'm not particularly merciful. But not everyone would have taken a 'partypooper' like you home," they added, their voice taking on a haunting tone that sent shivers down my spine.

"So what's your name" I asked In ASL. "I'm Partygoer 81. And what about you, Emo boy?" they responded, rising from the couch and making their way to the fridge.

"After the fun war, my memories began to blur, and years of isolation caused my true name to fade. I believe it started with a 6 or something similar," I signed in ASL, struggling to recall my forgotten identity.

As I peered into the fridge, my eyes scanned over the assortment of seemingly ordinary food. But then, my gaze fell upon something that made my blood run cold. There, amidst the containers and jars, lay a fucking corpse. Shock and horror coursed through my veins, rendering me momentarily speechless.

The partygoer noticed my stunned expression and followed my line of sight to the lifeless body. With a nonchalant gesture, they extended their claws, pointing towards the corpse. "Oh, this?" they chimed in a cheerful tone, as if discussing a casual everyday occurrence. "A friend of mine killed this wanderer, and I'm just holding onto it for them," they explained, their voice filled with an eerie sense of contentment. "They're like a sister to me, so I couldn't refuse," they added, as if this macabre act was just another act of friendship.

Suddenly, the partygoer forcefully slammed the fridge door shut, causing a loud noise to reverberate through the room. Startled by the unexpected sound, I involuntarily jumped in fear. The partygoer, however, found amusement in my reaction and burst into laughter. "You're so easy to scare, Emo boy," they mocked, their hand gently lifting my chin and tilting my head upward.

Trying to regain my composure, I noticed the partygoer opening the fridge once again. They turned their attention to me, offering a selection of refreshments. "So, do you want anything to eat or drink?" they asked, their tone surprisingly hospitable. "I have cake, cookies, almond water, and some blood," they listed off the options, their eyes lingering on the container of blood. "You know what? Here's some almond water," they decided, handing me a bottle of the clear liquid.

Appreciative of their gesture, I communicated my gratitude through sign language, signing "Thanks" to the partygoer. They responded with a casual "No problem, Emo boy," bending down to meet my gaze. Their eyes held a glimmer of curiosity as they observed me, seemingly intrigued by my presence. "Anyways, I'll be back. Don't you dare go anywhere, got it?" the partygoer warned, their voice carrying an air of authority. I nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of their instruction. "Glad you understand," they remarked before leaving the room.