Moon - CrankGameplays

Moon

Between the seams are scary dreams.
I'd like to be, eventually, able to roam around so free.
I have secrets inside of me.

Can you discover why we're even here?
Can't you feel? I think the end is near!
But are you sure you really want to know?
There's so much I fear with such a long way to go.

Go away, I hear you say
You think you know it all, hooray!
But no, you don't, not even close.
There's one last piece of the puzzle to go.

Groundbreaking - Plushtrap

Oh, how much Ethan loved the Moon wasn't quantifiable, and neither how much time he spent staring at her, up there, in the night sky, surrounded by stars.

Her brilliance was almost hypnotic, keeping his eyes glued, and she, so mesmerising and bright, made him forget everything else. A sensation of peace wrapped him, calming his heartbeat and making him feel purified from all of his demons. He felt light like he hadn't a body keeping him attached to that world that was making him live hell.

When he looked at the Moon, he didn't think about it: he stared and that's it, emptying his mind and let himself being enchanted by her allure like it was a lullaby cradling him and promising him it was going all alright.

He knew he should've slept, that his psychiatrist recommended him to rest, that insomnia would've worsened his condition, but how he was going to sleep if every time he closed his eyes "they" tried to drag him with them, making him live it all over again? How he could've dared to sleep if the monsters that infested his mind were torturing him with horrible visions of what he lived not so much time ago? And how, with what courage he could confess that to his friends? Why add another preoccupation to his already chaotic friends' lives? They had to be his parents, made sure that he ate, that he took his pills regularly with the correct dose at a specific time, that his weight wouldn't drop too fast, that he took his integrators, that he wouldn't do anything stupid and he wouldn't develop bad habits, and all of that when he was relatively fine. When he had a crisis, the tasks doubled, and then they had to be with him until the moment he went to sleep, keep him away from sharp objects and keep him company while he was crying and feeling useless.

He was already a dead weight, forcing his friends to give up a couple of hours of their time every single day, how could he obligate them to take that responsibility even at night?

So he kept quiet, living his nights awake, staring at the Moon, that Moon that brought so much comfort and helped him feel a little bit less guilty and a little bit less useless.

It became easier to pick up a razor, without judging eyes or pointing fingers. He'd run, without thinking, the shining blade on his pale skin and he'd feel a faint pain, a barely perceived ailment while the object seemed to dance on his arms, following a rhythm dictated by his head, becoming more and more erratic as time progressively passed and minutes mingled, making him lose the sense of time.

"Put him there, he's enough drugged to not understand what is happening. Make sure to lock the door, God forbid he thinks of escaping" "Gregory, I don't think he has the energy to do that, but better safe than sorry"

Dark. Cold. Where am I? Who brought me here?

And that music sounded so sweet to his ears, that incessant rhythm that only he could hear, while he continued to cut.

"Lottie, don't do that, you're better than this and you're better than him. He doesn't know what he just lost, you're a gorgeous and kind girl, if he decided to let you go then it's his fault" I don't hear much of what they're saying, but I think Charlotte is angry. And when she's angry it's never good.