He does not get to start anew where the light vanishes. The turning tides, the red fleshy walls. The throne of disembodied hands. No, he does not get such a luxury. Not anymore.
Where there was once a promise of light, laughter and rest has been replaced with a murky darkness; a mess of long, inky dark tendrils that wrap his limbs and submerge him in their cries. In their blood.
He lies at the stairs, hands pressed against his chest chokingly. His throat is closed, suffocation gripping his lungs in a vice hold. The scent of death, his and hers, penetrates his brain like a bullet. This platform is not big enough for the both of us, they say. This life is not either.
Realistically, he knows this. The boy is only getting older, he cannot continue like this forever. The person sat atop the throne seems to agree to some extent.
Be not afraid, they say, you may look up to heaven and see the others there. It's a strange thought to be trapped in hell, especially for such a young boy with no belief. If he strains his ears, he can hear his sister laughing.
Sinners do not get respite of what could have been. He may only wish for such luxury. He may only weakly grasp the notion that there was, at one point, a choice he made that stopped him from ever seeing his sister again.
I believe I am the God of this reality.
His response?
My throat is all closed up. Won't you cut it open for me?
YOU ARE READING
Levii's wacky collection of multifandom (OMORI and fnaf, etc) oneshots!
FanfictionHello people of another earth (wattpad users)! I have come from my home planet (ao3) to gift you all my collection of oneshot writing. I never post on wattpad, only draft here, so please go to my ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsyaboim8yem8...
