Warning: This chapter contains darker themes, and is not for the faint of heart. This is from Nagito's perspective, post-canon. Thank you for reading.
The boy let his body get mangled mercilessly as he looked out into nothingness with a numb expression. He didn't care anymore. Who would? He'd give up a long time ago. The only reason he was letting what was happening, happen was because of the deep desperation for human contact he had. He didn't care what it was. A hug, handshake, slap. It was all the same.
He felt the crumbled brick wall of the torn down building scrape against his back as he was thrust up and down. His right wrist was being pinned against the wall while his legs had been lifted up, a hand roughly gripping his left thigh as he was fucked mercilessly by a slave of despair. A former, regular, towa city resident. The man wore what all the slaves of despair wore to cover themselves and their fear, a monokuma head.
The sickly pale man felt hollow as he was dug into, once again against his will. He never cared to cry out for help, even if there was a chance of someone saving him, he wasn't worthy enough.
In his head, it's all he deserved. Endless pain, both physical and emotional. End on end, constantly. He wondered when he'd die of his illness, he couldn't have much time left after all. It'd been a year and a half since all players of the killing game joined the future foundation, even him.
Although he deemed himself the most unworthy of them all, he'd sometimes wonder. Why didn't anyone ever forgive him? Everyone had done horrible things, even in the simulation. Fuyuhiko and Peko were instantly forgiven for their murders or attempt of. Why hadn't they done the same for him? Was it because he didn't cut his stomach open or attempt to redeem himself? He could never tell.
After what felt like hours, he was left on the ground cold and alone.
He didn't bother moving though.
He just lay there lifelessly like a corpse. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to move again.
His entire body was in significant pain. It truly was an odd feeling, although he was in pain it felt like it'd been all numbed out as well.
Was there hope in his situation? The thing that he'd go on about so much? The thing that seemed like an absolute good? Maybe all the men who raped him had experienced some twisted hope of their own. The idea of that was probably the most comforting in this situation.
As he started to black out he could see himself, looking much different from his current state. He was there, on the island, reaching his arm out to the only person who could ever consider him a friend.
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Komahina one-shots + Random jots of writing
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