Chaos Returns

Subconscious

     The light was dim and warm in the room around Stan as he stood facing a shrouded figure in front of him. He blinked, hoping it would adjust his eyes enough to tell who it was. Though, for some reason, he didn't care so much who it was, or where he was. He had the vague feeling he was in a familiar house. Somewhere safe.

     His vision suddenly focused on movement occurring to the left of the figure. He smiled at the second figure, vaguely recognizing Kyle sitting on his bed. The room was a blur, but his mind filled in the blanks and told him it was Kyle's bedroom. He took a step toward the bed, opening his mouth to say something before, stopping in his tracks. His eyes registered the expression on Kyle's face, and he squinted, feeling his chest tighten and the world slow. This looked like Kyle. His brain said this was Kyle. But that look on his friend's face was foreign, different, strange. A chill ran down his spine and he took a step back.

     Kyle smiled lazily, eyes half-lidded, pulling the indistinguishable figure toward him so they were both on the bed. Stan's stomach flipped, seasick on land. Kyle was leaning in. Kissing the person. Running his hands through their hair. The figure was holding his face. Running a hand down his back. Climbing onto his lap. Stan couldn't look away. He tried to yell, but his voice was caught in his throat by nausea threatening to surface.

     Then the figure was more clear, he could see black hair, blue eyes, darker skin than Kyle's-

     Wait what the fuck?

     Stan watched as his mirror image was pushed roughly against the mattress, feeling bile rise in his chest as hands wandered downward, progressing. Skin on skin. His heart was racing and his head was spinning and he just wanted to blackout, be anywhere but here.

     Then, in a moment, the world slowed.

     He watched his other-self pull something off the side table that surely hadn't been there before. Silver glinted in the fluorescent lighting, and at once Stan finally found his voice, crying out. Kyle slowly looked up at Stan from across the room, but it was too late. The other him had plunged the knife into Kyle's back. Once, twice, again, again. Kyle stiffened. The room spun and Stan clutched his stomach, falling to his knees and heaving as Kyle fell limp on his mirror image's lap. There was no contempt in either's eye. It was almost like Kyle had known this would happen. Stan choked, wanting nothing more than to scream, or empty his stomach, or sob. He couldn't. He was frozen. His vision swam. Blood was pounding in his head.

     He looked up at himself, who was standing over him now, leaving Kyle's body behind him. The sheets were bleeding red. Red. The carpet. It was red. Stan looked down at his hands. Red.

     The surrounding scene melted and smeared around him, leaving him kneeling on the floor, blood on his hands and a knife to his left on the carpet. He looked up and saw Kyle's body in front of him. His eyes were open, reflecting his gaze as he felt his own mouth open and begin to speak out of his control. Water dripped from his mouth with two words rolling drops down his chin.

     "Don't rush."