❝because the stars weren't made for you, they're made for us ❞
life and death always met, under the shade of the rusty blue bus stop, as they wait for their rides on opposite ends. they just don't know which one is which.
...
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an unknown void fills every inch of this world he has no recognition of. as if a black mist once envelops a grassy field as his feet feel the shivering moist plant. toned down light illuminated his surrounding, albeit distorted and a huge contrast to physics.
walking down in search of any signs of life seems futile in this desolate land because it seems that this was nothing but imagery conjured up in his mind; still, he has no solid evidence of that being true to anything.
when he does try to walk down any possible path, he comes across an elongated light bulb, a sense of familiarity masks his indifference to it. and just when he thinks he clutches the line of memory lane, his once endless cycle of darkness illuminates with other similar lightbulbs along the way. an expanse hallway greets his disoriented self and he finally acknowledges that this specific hallway could be found in building one: as lines of metal lockers stand by the side and the familiar doors stay closed as if purposefully locked.
in a matter of seconds, he feels himself restrained on the chill alloy that is the lockers. he tries to forcefully remove his apprehended arms in an attempt to get himself rid of the spot but all dying down when he sees another figure approach him.
although smaller, the figure manages to make his blood stop pulsing and his toes curl in panic. it's shorter arms placing them on either side of his body and long manicured nails tugging on his white shirt.
the same scent that haunts him in his sleep is coursing in the minimal space that they occupy: a mixture of sweet vanilla and fresh raspberries. a delighted smile painted in purple on her smooth and porcelain skin, like a doll controlling their owner.
nothing comes out from her mouth other than rotten words and a yearning giggle—he has no choice further than staying as far away as possible with the smallest control he has over his own body.
but, none of that was his biggest concern when he sees a pair yell at each other. there was no doubt that they were his parents, his parents in the ugliest form he's seen them in.
it was too gruesome to watch, the skin of his mother starts peeling itself off, falling flat on the tiled floor of the hallway. her mouth that yells spurs start dripping off like that of melting ice cream; although the color is vibrant yet so, so disgusting. his father, on the other hand, has patches of dry, gelled hair fall out as he runs his hands through his head trying to calm himself. then a foul stench clogs his nose, it makes his eyes tear up.
he couldn't move, nor could he speak. he has no control over himself, over his being. and he was trapped in a horrible nightmare that seems so real, so true, so terrifying that it makes him more inhuman, more objectified. he was nothing but a body, no soul.
