︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎TRIGGER WARNING.
>blood/gore
>detailed description
>self harm
>su!c!de, attempts of it
>drowning
>death
The tranquil cadrum was swaddled in a veil of poltergeist-white mist. It was eerily silent and the reason was obvious; a heavy fog was slowly eating everything showing in its way.
Although it looked ethereal and gossamer-fragile, it packed a punch far above its weightlessness. It writhed and coiled with delight, its ghostly scarves wrapping the beach in a maze of mist. The golden sun was well hidden underneath a canopy of grey clouds, that swooped in and skirted around the sky like nothing else mattered, hurrying a storm in that direction.
Everything looked so hostile.
The silent viewer stood up from a chair, sighing deeply as he closed the window back up. The wind had already invaded the chamber, swirling around and whistling at each corner of the walls, cooling the atmosphere. It was so cold.
He slowly walked over to the bathroom and glanced at the mirror. Illumi. His skin was pale, morbid, as if he was no longer alive. A restless corpse walking on earth, cursing everything around only to achieve few of the burning goals, induced by others in greater power. What was he breathing for? To feel.
The black haired made his way back to the kitchen, going to have the first meal of that day, some toast for breakfast.
Living at the seaside, was truly beautiful.
Ever since he was a kid Kikyo would forcely bring him to the beach, to learn him how to swim, and, without even knowing, he subconsciously started to like it; the water bringing him a somewhat kind of comfort.
Picking up a knife, the assassin slowly started to piece up the bread, making perfectly rounded, cut out slices. Perfectionsm;an old bad habit.
The sharpened tool pushed through the soft dough, easily reaching the surface beneath, again, and again, until it hit wrong.
The smallest droplet of blood got out of a little incision from his thumb. He'll have to put an aid later and-
It.. burned?
The injury turned out to be itchy, a fiery sensation tingling his finger.
Could that be..?
A smile started to curl up his lips as he grabbed the knife again, aligning it on his wrist and pushing down, deeply. The blade danced on his skin faster than he expected. It cut through the frail flesh like it was nothing, tracing over older scars, mutilating the bare arm with ease. 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.
A constant beat of pain echoed though the walls of his mind, just to drip away further, clogging his ears, blurring his sight.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘡𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘺𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.
Soon, his simper faded into a frown, looking down at his hand. A normal person would've screamed in pain, cry, beg for mercy;𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦.
But not him. He wasn't 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭, he was unable to 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭.
As the life fluid drained out of him in it's garish red, his skin took worse on the pallor of a corpse.
𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘙𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯?
The crimson liquid was dripping down his arm a river, staining the floor, warming up the coldness plummeting within his body.
Illumi turned around to face the glass door, shilling noises piercing right through it. A few gulls were flying outside on the sky, bustling because of the weather. He tilted his head lightly, like trying to understand it better, and walked outside of his house, greeting the harsh wind and the icy sand at once.
He stepped further, his sight locked on the water in front.
In the vastness of the ocean it was easy to loose hope. Get lost in its deceiving way of pretending, luring you in then stealing you regardless. Ever calmed, yet constantly still. Always moving, never the same. Constantly amending, remaining unchanged. No description can truly capture it's mysterious majesty, yet only a few words can express it's beauty. The desert wasthe the most gentle hue of gold, almost earthen and muted, the humble star of the scene,running away from under his feet. Drums of war were pounding against the golden shoreline in the dead of night and the light of day. It seemed to be a restless war between the hurtful truth land and the lustful delusional delay. The assassin walked further on the beach, finally reaching the sizzling water. The man cradles the distressed infant in his arms, murmuring dulcet tunes to kiss away the sore throat parched from incessant cries. He whispers dawn melodies that echo across the undulated expanse of his touch. Waves caress cherub limps and a kelply figure. The ocean missed that child, so another soul got lost at sea. He let himself get away with the movements of the foamy water, bitter tears rolling down his cheeks.
A compensation until it hungers again.
It was so beautiful, so comforting; his whole body embracing a cold, shallow surface, spiking through his skin. The heavy saltiness highed up in the air, morphing together, hurting his nose with each inhale.
Darts of icy cold rain started shooting from the sky, bulleting his frail silhouette, deepening him into the greedy arms of the sea. He loved it, but that came at a cost. Its hostile behavior, demands Illumi to void and coil within the intrusivity; something he cannot provide nor know how to reach.
The rain gives of itself unto the ocean, each fragment becoming apart of the body of brine, of the waves and sea-lace. He heard each watery gift, softer than the patter on a rooftop, moving in subtle waves of its own according to the wind.
Blood was still gushing out of the assassin's wound, mixing with the muddy liquid, blending into a gray- crimson color. He envied it. Illumi was jealous of it. Those drops, those traces of heavy fluid flowing out of his body were getting inside of the sea, combining into a meek submission that danced them away; freed them of any worry and dismay. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭.
The man's beautiful black haired got wet, getting heavier and heavier, until his head couldn't sustain it anymore, throbbing into the water, dragging him beneath.
Illumi didn't fight it. He laid under the cold liquid, saltiness hurting his eyes as he kept them open, to see a grey sky, the view of his last moments.
It causes no pain, beyond what life provides. It is not greedy, it is not rude, or rough. It merely carried him, his burning soul to a cool rest, where he laid benumbed of the greed, rudeness, and hatred of the living world. The moment where death held him with a cold caress, waiting for him to fail, to mistaken only once, and it'd claim him.An endless thrill of satisfaction, love for the unknown. That's how he saw death, his beloved, distant friend.
Water started invading his body, intruding through his mouth and nose, heavily pressing against his lungs. He gasped one last time for air, but he was too deep to reach any. He was forced into a void, pulsating in the back of his neck.
-1232 words.
