The colour grey // phan

Dream

His eyes threatened to betray the forced, stern look on his face. His breath foggy as the midnight air swirled around him, whistling and singing as it did so. He staggered along the footpath, a simple object in his hand, masked so that no one could see it. He sighed to himself and ran to the nearest alley way.

He grazed his hand against the wall as he walked past. Threw himself into it. Punched and kicked at it. He then revealed the object to no one but himself. He traced his flesh with the knife, loving the tingling rush of adrenaline his body gave him when he did it. He breathed heavily, jaggedly. His eyes illuminating as the sharp silver reflected light.

He slowly cut open his cheek. Instantly putting his hand to his cheek to check if it was bleeding. It was.

The thick blood fell slowly from the open wound like a waterfall. He laughed in satisfaction as his demented mind told him what to do next, as if he was a puppet.

What he did next woke Phil up. Spluttering, coughing and crying. His brain wracked vividly for some sense of safety. Dan.
Dan was his safety. Even though he was dying. He was in hospital. He was safer with him. His arms were the only place he belonged in.

The dream replayed in his mind plenty of times. Each time more vivid than he worse. He saw it everywhere. Even when his eyes were open, he could literally see it happening right in front of him. Phil reached for his phone and turned the flashlight on and sunk directly under the covers with it. He tried to hide from the universe and begged for the night to allow him to sleep easily.