Human

Beau

The clocked chimed midnight.

"I was gone for fourteen days."

Beau was twirling in circles, colors bursting like fireworks in his eye.

"I coulda been gone for more."

His lips settled into a hazy grin, his back pressed up against the brick wall, his hands trembling as he held the baggy of pills up in the air.

"Held up in the intensive care ward."

Slowly, senselessly, Beau lifted the baggy up to lips and took a gulp in one swift go.

Suddenly, he saw them.

Heard them.

He listened obediently as they told him the directions he needed to go; to head; to follow. The colors that were oh so violently bursting in his eyes only moments ago took a turn for the worst and twisted into shades of crimson. He dropped to his knees, grabbing hold of his hair as he tried to shut the voices out, as he tried to erase the vivid images.

"Stop," He begged.

On either side of him were pairs of bright lights—from a scintillating white to a lustrous yellow. Harmonious and cacophonous horns blared all around him and he dropped onto all fours.

"Stop!"

All his life, Beau was tormented and plagued by undetectable voices and imperceptible faces.

Beau was pained by a series of unseen terrors that no one could ever relate to.

And as obedient as a servant would his master, Beau followed and accepted what was now his life.

Beau was the destruction in the making. Beau was the illness that couldn't be detained.

BEAU WAS THE HAVOC.

Everything Beau touched withered. Everything  Beau ever cared for agonized from the inside out.

Beau was broken.

Beau needed someone. Something.

Beau was in need.

Beau needed help, and he could admit that any day—when he wasn't high.

But he didn't sign up for a support group, he just somehow managed to pick the locks of a rundown building and fall asleep, later waking up in the midst of a group of people.

Funny, huh?