Locked in a damp, cold room - crying in the bleak corner where no light seemed to shine on my bloody soul. Tears pouring out of my half-dead eyes, following the stream down my burning hot pale cheeks; almost boiling my skin. No sign of hope came through the well-fitted window, as it was covered in my blood. I winced in pain as more blood oozed out of my crimson-red neck, leaving trails of red down my shirt. It was getting hard to breathe, body shaking frantically trying not to cut into my skin by the minute- trying to keep my sanity. But. *slice* Another wound formed- blood gushing out faster than the last.
"Mhm, that one was faster." I wondered, cutting in deeper into the wound. I gasp in pain, which slowly turns into a giggle than a laugh. And then into screams of agony. I had long lost the ability to speak properly as the constant screaming had broken my voice-box - the only audible sound was my heartbeat. Heartbeat. Badumb. Ba-Dumb.
"What would happen if that stopped?" I questioned myself in this lonely bloody room. It reeked of blood, human faeces and alcohol - why you may ask? I lost my interest in living any longer. I got bored with life, I wanted it to come to an end and start a new adventure - like a game you see, where you respawn after you die. I know better than anyone that I won't "respawn" but. Why don't we find that out?
YOU ARE READING
Help.
HorrorMan in his early 20's locks himself in his own room, ready to experience what a torturous death would feel like. This is not suitable for anyone who is afraid of blood or not at the age of maturity.
