Venus Angst
Trigger warning:
Self harm
Enjoy
__________________________________________
A thick atmosphere. Rocky surface. Vast amounts of volcanoes littered around the surface. These features are some Venus has had for millions of years, yet... He still wasn't used to them. It wasn't the green grass, the blue oceans, and white puffy clouds he was used to. He still remembers that traumatic day. The feeling of fire that slowly ate away at his beautiful plants and oceans. It only left behind the shell of his former self...
He started blankly in the mirror. He looked over the orange, yellow surface. The long, orange hair that was unkept. The bags under the eyes. His eyes raked over the body, picking out every imperfection. He made eye contact. His mind was blank other than one thought.
Who is that looking back at me...?
He didn't know who it was, but it certainly wasn't him.. Yet it copied everything he did. Every movement. Every blink. Every word. He's lost his sense of self. His only purpose was to be able to harness life. Something that he so desperately longed for and worked so hard to get and when he finally managed to, it was ripped away from him. Leaving behind unlivable conditions.
He missed the blue hue his atmosphere used to give him. His clenched his fist at his sides, digging his nails into his palms. He started at the reflection. He didn't care if he felt a bit of warm liquid drip of his hands. After a few minutes, he unclenched his fists and took off his jacket. He looked down at the torn up canvases that were his arms. The self-hate he felt because he lost his life. He blamed himself for losing it. This is how he punished himself for it. He painted. He painted the canvases that were his arms in a bright red liquid.
Not that anyone has noticed yet, he was good at hiding it. He reached into his pockets and pulled out the tool he used to paint. A small blade.
1 stroke. 2 strokes. 3... Then 4. Once he was satisfied he stuffed the blade back into his pocket and slipped his jacket back on. The fabric of his jacket brushed up against his arms wish made them sting, but he didn't care. He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't care that he's destroying himself further.
Because what's left to destroy when he's already destroyed?
__________________________________________
SORRY FOR THE SHORT CHAPTER
HOPE YOU ENJOYED
Might make a part two when he's comforted by his pookie bear (a.k.a Mercury)
Word count: 435
