music box corpse

700s Club

The boy sat there and cranked the handle of his prized possession over and over and over again. Although his hand hurt like crazy and was cramping up just like the wheels inside his box, he continued going, too excited and filled with high-hopes to even take a split second break to rest his cramped hands. His pale white knuckles were prominent as his left hand clutched the box tightly, same with the other as he cranked. The stool he was sitting on was hard, splintered, and old, so he wasn't very surprised when he stood up every day to result in his thighs being littered with scars. He was so used to this routine; waking up at 3 in the morning exact, taking his medicine with water from the sink, and then sitting in that room for 7 hours a day cranking that rusty old box into smithereens. When he wasn't doing that, he was either sleeping or watering his already dead and wilted plants. They died years ago, along with what was inside that box.
As he sat hunched over and a tired grin plastered onto his face, the sun outside started going down quite quickly, the pale greys turning into navy blues as they turned into blacks. Rain splattered across his boarded windows, the wind outside blowing the salty water molecules across it with a sloshing sound. There was a draft under the door downstairs, so this resulted in rain water to invite itself in under the cracks, and the smell of wet soil to join in as well. He never realized this, as his eyes rolled to the back of his sockets at a slow pace, making it hurt, and his eyelids twitch a little before clamping shut and him spasming on the hardwood floor. Beside him lay a split open music box, the all too familiar tune playing as he would usually hum along to it by himself when he was awake.
"Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ..." The boy stays lying unconscious on the splintered flooring , now not writhing around.
"I think I found the light, in your eyes~." His usually pale fingers begin to turn a sick yellow, as if dead flower petals were building up under the surface of his skin.
"I just became as religious as they come..."
He starts foaming at the mouth, and although still unconscious, something inside him posses his toes to curl up, the unkempt toenails digging into the hardwood.
"I think I just found God." The bags under his eyes grow more prominent, and now his teeth start to yellow rapidly.
"Dumbfounded by your glowing halo, oh i cant believe I'm staring at a living angel." His blood begins to run cold, the pigment in his skin now all a grey-cold colour, something so indescribable to man.
"Give me a bible, I'll put my hand on it." Something in his mind whispers to him, drifting from ear to ear.
"Baptisms baby, dip me in the lake..." And although the voice is whispering to him, feeling it in the back of hid head, all the words come out in faded mumbles in his unconscious state.
"Pour the holy water, ill drink the whole cup~." He shoots awake, blonde locks scattered galore.
Now, the voice isn't a whisper. It is more prominent and louder, coming from downstairs. Before he could stand up, he vomits everywhere, the pale peach tones splashing down his shirt and across the floor. He simply pays no mind to it as he drags himself over to t he music box, music still blaring from it as the little ballerina spun.
"And I, never believed there was a heaven until I met you..." He smiles at the all too familiar tune, immediately beginning to sing along.
This time he scoops the ashes of his old boyfriend into the music box labelled "Jawn", and slams the lid shut, despite it being split open. This time, he doesn't even whisper the usual "i love you". He simply sits it down on the floor softly, still singing even though the music stopped, and begins tearing down the boards off his windows with his bare hands. Once finished, he smashes the window, tossing the box out of it. He grins and laughs maniacally as he watches the ashes flutter galore to the ground.
Now, no more Jawn. The voice is gone. His room is a mess. He picks up an ink pen with his name labelled on it so it doesn't get lost, "Awsten C. Knight". He clicks it open, and plunges it through his puny chest, and slowly bleeds out before dying. His last words recalled were,
"Give me a pen to join the 700s Club. "