MADELINE

08|| die

~stop living~

[Heavily unedited]

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       Ben's eyes darted around the cafeteria, searching for a mass of blonde hair that belonged to a certain person. He shoved his frail hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his right hand clutching around a paper. He squeezed it once more, as though assuring himself that it wouldn't disappear from his grasp.

Chatters and noises were the only things he could hear and he gritted his teeth in irritation, long legs moving without location, neck craning to find Madeline. He stopped when he saw her, sitting at a table alone, as always, wrist handcuffed to a table, hair unkempt. His legs moved faster than his brain could comprehend and before he knew it, he pulled out a chair beside her, scraping it noisily and making Madeline wince; just like last time.

Madeline did not look up. "You seem to have a habit of startling me"

Ben didn't answer and this made Madeline look up. He could imagine what she saw. A boy with black curly unruly hair, that had hollow and red- brimmed eyes, tired as a result of sleepless nights, his bones poking out of his body sharply, his pale skin almost translucent.

"You look like hell"

Ben winced. He didn't think that hearing it from someone would make his situation more realistic. He wanted to say that he was living in hell, but he kept his mouth shut.

Not yet.

Instead, he dug his hands into his pocket and pulled out the almost crumpled paper of the painting. He was well aware of the gaze burning at the side of his head as he tried to straighten out the painting, his bony fingers moving fast.

Looking up, he slid the painting to Madeline, watching her intently to judge her facial reaction. Madeline took the paper with her free hand and ran her fingers along the outline of the red paint.

"It's an angel" Ben's voice sounded scratchy and he cleared his throat. "It's a red angel to be more specific."

Madeline looked up. "Why are you showing me this?" The paper felt heavy in her hands, as though it weighed more than it should carry.

Ben fiddled with his fingers and released a loud breath. "Would you believe me if I say that I painted that while thinking of you?"

Madeline couldn't help it, her face flushed. She set her gaze on the painting again. It looked horrific, dangerous even and she wondered if that was a compliment or not. She set her lips in a tight line. "I don't understand"

He sighed and stared ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing. He watched the other patients chatter amongst themselves, so real that you would have never thought that they were crazy.

Real.

He sat up and looked at Madeline. "Do you believe that dreams and nightmares are real? That they aren't figments of our imagination?"

Madeline's mouth opened, surprised. "I don't really know. That should be based on psychology right?" She sat up. "Some say they are, others say they aren't but I think it really depends on an individual. No one really knows the mind better than the owner, you know"

Ben nodded. "So you think that if I have a nightmare, I should determine by myself if it's real or not?"

Madeline shrugged. "It's your mind, Ben. You get to decide if your nightmares are real or not because they occupy your mind. Not someone else's."

Ben's eyes glazed over and he thought about the nightmares he has had for the past couple days. They looked too real to be true. They were the same dreams that Susan had said that boy had.

Suddenly, Ben looked at the painting in Madeline's hands and the boy's words resounded in his head.

"There are some demons you really can't conquer Ben"

He put his head in his hands and a nauseating feeling pooled at the bottom of his stomach.

"Ben?"

Ben's hollow eyes stared at Madeline in fear. "I painted a demon", he stated.

Madeline's face drew up in confusion. "What?"

"I painted a demon", Ben repeated.

Looking at the painting again, she felt realisation settle in the depth of her mind. "Are you calling me a demon?"

Ben shook his head. "I didn't say I painted you. I said I was thinking of you when painting this."

He snatched the paper out of Madeline's hands and stood up, letting the chair fall backwards. The loud clatter of the chair made the cafeteria to be silent, silent enough that you could hear a pin drop. He stood wide-eyed, eyes frantic and confused, hands in his hair, pulling and tugging. He heard Madeline's voice in the background, faint and concerned. He heard, the rush of the men, their boots sounding like an earthquake. And as they put a syringe in his neck, and as dizziness overtook him, he had only one thought in his mind which he whispered through his lips. He was 16 and he had only 16 days to live.

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-Ada