Herobrine

Trauma

Steve stumbled down a path down a hill, a stone sword in his hand and an iron helmet on his head. He tumbled down and pushed the tall grass away from his way, breath hitched. He could hear his blood umping in his ears, and he shook his head and kept running and kept running.

'Where are you going, Steve?'

Steve halted when a cliff appeared in front of him, suddenly. He turned around to see the mobs advancing, and he slowly moved back to the edge, looking down at the extreme height, and he spun his head back at the incoming threat, and was face to face with white, blazing eyes.

'I haven't even started, yet.' The Herobrine grinned, and Steve's eyes widen before a hand clasped over his throat, and he could hear a sickening crack, and he could feel iron in his lips. He gagged, and his hand lets the sword go, falling down the cliff. Herobrine sneered at the sight before him, and he seemed to take in every single picture. Every single contraction from pain and ragged breath, and his scream died in his lips.

'Well, that ended fast.' He cooed at the twitching body, now limp in his hands. He sneered an ear-splitting grin. 'Such a shame.'

And he let go.

"AAAAAHHH!" Steve jolted awake, screaming from complete shock. He stopped as he looked around, and found himself in his room, and the lights shone through the window panes. He blinked and looked down, brushing the cold sweat from his face, and clasped his hands on his lap and closed his eyes.

No. No worries. No worries, he is safe now. Herobrine is not around, and it's daylight.

Well, at least he's not around now.

He suppressed a sob and hugged his legs.

"Mister Steve?"

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. Oh, it's Joe outside the door. Who is he kidding; Joe will, of course, be the first who heard him screaming. He closed his eyes again, and sighed, brushing his hair back with a hand.

"Come in."

Joe slowly opened the door, a clean cloth in his hands. He seemed to be cooking when Steve woke up. He looked worried.

"Do you... get nightmares again?"

A brief nod.

"Ah," the villager nodded. "Do you want anything?"

He shook his head, and Joe nodded. He understood.

"I'm going to keep cooking you the usual mushroom and chicken cream soup, in the dining table. I'll farm in half an hour, so grab some if you want to eat." He added, before he closed the door back, leaving Steve in the small room to rest up.

To be honest, Steve does not want to go out or eat at all. He felt like nothing mattered, and whenever he thought of being alive made him deflate. Getting up from bed felt like a hard chore, and usually it took him an hour to fully sit down without feeling like a pile of stinking cow dung. Eating is a very hard chore too, because when he had brought a spoonful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth, he lost appetite suddenly, and he placed it down, waiting for the appetite to come back, and the process repeated until the food had turn cold, and he lost his interest in eating.