My True Intentions...

❧Trailer

One of the first things he had ever knew is pain. It's a terrible first thing to learn at first; as if it was a basic, don't you think? It slowly eats you away both mentally and physically, always leaving you in war that's winner is obvious. He learned it immediately and so intimately.

His muscles were bunched and tight beneath his skin, shaking as a simple shifting tells him quite well that they were bruised to the bone.

Everything hurt; everything feels battered. His right arm screaming from pain telling him that it was broken thousands of times.

Still lost in the void of the unconsciousness and numbness that was mixed with the hard reality, waiting a single small dim light to lighten his pitch black darkness, he laid back motionless like a dead corpse.

Not even a simplicity of a bed underneath his injured body. No- but it was a horrifying pool of his own dried up blood on the dirty streets, surrounded by disgusting rats chewing his crimson red bloody clothes.

The first thing he comprehends wasn't a gentle touch or a peaceful quiet. No, it was horrifying, deep, scraping and grinding and clawing agony, and it only gets worse as he get woken up only by rats bitting into the flesh of his opened injured his malformed broken arm.

He screamed in pain. The action makes him choke and try quickly getting into a sitting position, but he who was he kidding? He couldn't move a muscle to sit. Coughing and clutching a sore, squeezed chest. His lungs feel like they're on fire- and every breath is a small gasp escaping a secure prison.

The next few minutes are a battle for oxygen, fought desperately. The world swirls and blackens around him. When he finally wins, he winces, remembering his twinging arm, and his other battered limbs.

He tried whispering something, unable to speak louder. Blinking, breathing heavily, he tries again. It's a low croak, alien and strange, and it feels like nails scraping the back of his throat. He wonders if he had been screaming before, while he was asleep. He tastes blood in his mouth and decides that yes, he must have been. For hours.

Fire dances along his entire right side, bruises tingling and burning enough to make him shut his eyes and have to breath for a moment.

But suddenly;

A cold, soft voice croons in his ear and feeling as if something metallic sinks into his flesh.

"There is no running away, boy."

The voice terrified him to core as it spoke it sent so much icy agony to him.. making him want to scream.

He tried struggling, desperate to feel the hard ground beneath him. Desperate to feel even the pain, if it distract him from the monster inside his head. It's not real, it can't be real.

"I-I'm okay." He almost sobs. "N-nothing i-is h-here.. I-I'm here, a-all a-alone...There is nothing except me h-here..I'm here..."