"So, you made it out alive."
"Ah, I see... You're here to finish me off, huh?"
"Ah. No."
The boy in a white cap, known for hiding his face—especially his eyes—lifted the cover by a little portion, but enough to see his darting gaze.
My vision weakened within his glare as he moved closer and pointed a gun at my forehead.
Unintentionally, I found it funny, really funny. I laughed in front of his serious face and loaded gun as if it were a bluff.
I laughed so hard tears started falling from my eyes, yet I had no idea of the reason behind it.
The young guy sighed and took the gun out of my sight; only then did he let me hear his deep and sharp words that would echo everywhere among the walls: "Cover up, ya look like a murderer." A jacket he wore flew into me, oddly enough to make my urge to laugh stop.
I stared and scratched my head right before chuckling, "Don't need it."
He adjusted his cap lower, "Suit yourself."
"What do you want?" is what I wanted to ask, but I wasted the question with a forced smile.
There was something within his gaze that told me he had a motive, and so—I didn't take his jacket.
Unexpectedly, he closed the distance between us. My fists were ready to fly, yet they were no match for his terrifying speed as he made his move toward my neck.
"You—!"
"Shh..."
His hands—all ten of them—held my neck softly, then fell away one by one, until only a finger was left.
Fortunately, maybe it was the blood that made all his fingers retreat in disgust. But I realized I spoke sooner than expected.
His eyes were covered, but I knew there was such delight in them by the way he licked his fingers, which were filled with blood from my neck.
"I hope to see you tomorrow...!" The voice that was once sharp and shallow was now deep and full of sincerity.
I left as soon as he let me go, but during my departure, I could still feel his fearsome gaze even from afar. I got home even though blood was everywhere; after all... everyone and everything would go silent when the cold starts.
After getting home, I cleaned up—well, not really, since there was no water. But I'm content with everything, after all... I wouldn't make the same mistake as I did in the past.
Without a thought, my lips would smile once more, and I'd have another craving for joyful, nonstop laughter—just like when I encountered that guy.
"No... After I got off that floor—?!"
The blood came out faster than my mouth could run; my throat felt rusty the whole time the crimson fell like a river.
"F—uck."
Blood flowed; some even stayed in my throat like a curse, like something was stuck.
Get out, I shouted in my mind, then commanded my arms to strangle my neck as if it would take the pain out, which, certainly, it did.
The pain went out, and so did something in my throat. A hassle as it may be, my body was yet again covered in such impurity that it would soon create another round of throwing up—a torture to the throat.
But within the red-painted mess,along with the mixture on the nasty-colored floor—was a piece of flesh that came out of my mouth. It swam and slid on the floor, the sight and bitter smell gave my stomach another beating.
My body seemed to not respond at some point; it just shivered so much that I was left there kneeling down, paralyzed, forced to watch the shaking blob of flesh that came from deep inside me.
My loose fingers turned into fists as I bit my lips, yet no matter how much force I exerted, my body remained immovable. On the bright side, the funny feeling I felt stopped—that was about it.
The flesh, compared to me, moved freely out of the way, rolling down onto my knee. It took its time, and during that, I could feel my eyes blurring after a weird sensation within my body, or maybe a vibration.
The red ball started to grow until it wasn't shaped like one any longer, but rather took the shape of my knee, slowly devouring me like wrapping a statue.
My body burnt; it came into my ears, nose, and mouth, making me suffocate as if reminding me of that time—like a reminder from the owner of the hand.
Then slowly, it made its way into my eyes, until my vision disappeared completely. It was dark, and within the pitch-black place, a floating head was just right up ahead, with hair so long, skin as pale as snow, and eyes so empty—so empty that there were no eyes to begin with.
It looked at me, opening its mouth.
"Run," I told my body, but I remained helpless. Before long, the head had already made its way to mine and again opened its mouth, but wider, bigger, and huge enough that the cheeks started to open.
I just closed my eyes... only to remember and cling to those moments that were long gone and buried.
"I wanna kill myself." I remember the words, yet not the voice.
"Do it. Much better if you were gone, we don't need someone like you here 'nyway."
I threw a knife at her, yet my words were sharper than it. When she went out of the room, I knew she wouldn't dare do it, she couldn't. I knew her.
Yes, when I checked on her, she hadn't stabbed herself. But as the door creaked, I was left stunned; my body wouldn't move no matter how much force I exerted. Because she didn't stab herself.
Within the orange-colored room from the sunset, the smell of iron and rot started to surround her shadow that hung from the ceiling.
"You did this."
I...
I...
"I didn't do it!"
My eyes opened only to see the light; my heavy breathing made it hard to breathe, my sweat showered me all over, and the worst part was the numb feeling in my throat.
"Oh... a dream." My head rested in my hands as I thought about what happened last night.
"Ah... If I'm right, it should be..." My head ached, and I walked stiffly to the closet, there I found it. The ball of flesh laid there, trapped in plastic wrap.
I took it and then left for work once again, just like any other day, except today is the second time I would be late.