Southern Gothic // Joshler

11. Shower

Hallucinations / drugging / gore / death

Salvation didn't come for Tyler until he was sure he was dead. It must've been days since he was thrown into the cell, he knew, because he could feel the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and the dirt and blood crusting on his skin. He was parched, starving, and his nose was filled with the smell of his own shit on the floor.

The hallucinations briefly stopped after he had his first breakdown. Everything around him was no longer black, but red, flames in one corner of the room, encroaching on the poor boy as he backed away as fast as possible. Long, gangly creatures danced out of the flames, their hands suffocating him as they squeezed on his neck.

He doesn't remember passing out, only waking up to a pitch black room once more. He was entirely sure he was in the presence of God when he woke, staring at what he hoped was the ceiling above him as he prayed silently to himself. Every inch of his body ached, from the scratches, from the malnutrition, from the screaming and crying that had dehydrated him.

For a short while, he forgot who he even was. He felt at his own body with what were foreign hands, running his fingertips up and down his arms and legs and feeling confused with what he was touching. He wasn't entirely sure if he was real any more, or if this was just some harsh afterlife that was determined to torture him until he couldn't stand it any longer.

It hurt to stand. It hurt to breathe.

"It hurts to live," Tyler mumbled to himself, voice cracking as he spoke for the first time in a while. He wanted to sing the song he had been repeating earlier, but he couldn't seem to recall the lyrics for it.

He didn't think about Josh. He didn't dare think about Josh, knowing that would only bring him more suffering. More hallucinations. More torture.

"I'll marry Jenna," He said aloud, his back slouched against the chair he had once again managed to find in the dark. "I'll have sex with her, I'll have children with her, I'll follow the rules and obey this God forsaken town until the day I die."

No one responded to his pleas.

He spent his time pacing back and forth. His shoes were hurting his feet, but he didn't want to know what he'd be standing on top of if he took them off.

The pacing caused him to pass out a few more times, but he couldn't be sure if he was even awake most of the time he was in there.

Tyler was sitting on his chair when blinding light flooded the room. He shielded his eyes, bringing his hands up to cover them, as he heard the door open in front of him.

"Tyler," It was the Preacher's voice. "Come with me, Child,"

Tyler shakily stood up, slowly opening his eyes. The light hurt him, and he could see the outline of the man standing in front of him.

"How long has it been?" Tyler asked softly as he slowly approached the man. His legs were wobbling as he walked from lack of use.

"It's been three days, Child," The Preacher responded, firmly placing a hand on Tyler's shoulder when he reached him. He led Tyler up the stairs slowly, a guiding hand on his back as Tyler gripped at the handrail next to him for stability.

Fresh air had never felt so good to Tyler's lungs. His eyes were adjusting, and he looked down at his hands as he walked upwards and saw his skin was black from the dirt and dust. His arm that he had carved the cross into was a nauseating mixture of red, yellow, and green from infection. Blood caked his fingers and deep scratches covered his arms.

Opening the door of the church was the happiest Tyler had ever felt. Once they reached the sanctum, he felt at peace, happy to finally return to the outside world.