There's darkness in front of your eyes. You can feel the cold of the metal you're lying against. You taste blood in your mouth.
The silence around you is interrupted only by quiet dripping of water somewhere in the distance. You're alone.
"You're forgetting something."
Nothing is binding your arms or legs. Despite that you don't move.
You're sitting on the ground, lightly rubbing your eyes. You're afraid that when you open them again, you'll see something you don't want to.
"You're the one who did it."
You slowly open your eyes, the darkness finally gives way to the light. You squint your eyelids, used to the dark. You notice red and black dots dancing in your line of sight. You know they're not real.
"Nothing is real for You anymore."
You look at yourself. At your rugged, blood-stained clothes. Dark red liquid seeps from your mouth. From your face. You touch your cheek. Still fresh wound reminds you about itself and you wince, feeling pain.
"You're still weak."
You don't even want to see yourself. You know that if you turned around, you'd see your reflection. The very thought makes you sick. You shift your gaze to your arms.
"You look so beautiful."
They're covered in all kinds of wounds, fresh and old. You can't see even a small fragment of clear skin through the dried up blood that formed itself into irregular scabs. Your hands look even worse.
"Something had to suffer..."
There's so much blood, dead skin and dirt under the fingernails that they're bent up and look like they could fall off at any moment. The knuckles are torn nearly to the bone. You can't feel them at all anymore.
"You'd like not to feel anything anymore, wouldn't you?"
You look at your legs now. There's broken glass, small needles and other items that are usually found on the ground sticking from your feet. When you're trying to move them, you feel unbearable pain.
"You're so weak. So helpless."
You feel an itch in your lungs. You cough reflexively, spitting our more blood. You wonder whether you'll ever bleed out to death.
"It tastes so good..."
You want to get up. To leave. You straighten one leg, feeling how the unnaturally crooked joint gets back into its place. The sound that accompanies the process makes you want to throw up.
"You know how much I like to play."
Your legs are heavy, they don't want to support you. You slowly get up, supporting yourself on the wall. Your legs wobble as if you were taking your first steps. You slide along the brass hesitantly, its irregular surface irritates your hands. You don't even look around the room you've found yourself in. You know it too well.
"You'll be here tomorrow anyway. The day after tomorrow as well. And the next day..."
It's hard for you to breathe with blood still in your lungs. You know you can't live on like this.
"I know it too."
You don't want to give up. You don't want to give in. A single cramp in your legs throws you to the ground. Your weakened arms couldn't catch anything before the fall. Your face harshly meets the concrete floor. You don't even notice that there's even more blood in your mouth at this point.
"Pathetic. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Look at me."
You reach out, you want to crawl to the exit. You look up, wanting to see the door. You know there's no escape. It's made out of shiny metal.
"Come here. Look. I'm waiting. I'm always waiting."
You don't have any strength in your arms, but you don't want to stay here. You drag your limp body on the floor.
"And You? You're not waiting. You don't have a choice."
The door is getting closer. Through the hazy sight you can see your face already.
"You know about it."
Your eyes are yellow. Yellow like the most vicious poison. The very sight paralyses your whole body.
Your hand squeezes by itself. A quiet giggle escapes your mouth. You straighten your back and sit up.
"It's time to play again."
You don't have any control in the hand that plunges into your arm and slits your skin, opening both old and new wounds. You can't even scream anymore. You laugh, and venomous tears run down your face.
"It will only get better. Just give up. I love You so much."
Your teeth sink into your hand. Fresh, light red blood drips down your already bloody arm. You weep loudly but you can't stop. You don't understand how you're still alive. At the same time you don't want to die. You tear muscles apart, your thumb twitches as you pull the nerves.
"You're too precious. Too fragile. Too tasty."
You find a single nail on the ground with your free hand. You don't care where it came from and how you knew it'd be here, you only hold onto it as if your life depended on it. You pant heavily, feeling a wave of excitement pass through your body.
"It feels too good breaking You. I don't want to stop. I don't need anyone else."
You swing your arm with the strength you didn't know you still had. The nail stabs straight into your eye. You make a low, quiet moan but your voice is muffled by the blood gathering in your throat. You get the control back in your arm but you stopped caring about it a long time ago. You pull the nail to the left, then to the right. You were expecting more pain.
"Oh no, are You disappointed? No, no, no I can't let it happen..."
You're trying to pull the nail out to plunge it in again, but it's sticked in too deep. You push it in deeper and pull it out, quivering with every pull of the muscle or nerve. You're sure that the blood isn't red anymore.
"Please, break Yourself. For me."
When you fall on the floor again you feel that you've landed among sharp objects. Needles, knives, daggers, nails, broken glass; everything's piercing your body. You laugh again. Perfect. With the half-limp hand that has loose ends of muscles and nerves hanging from it you reach for the first random object. You impale your hand on a knife. Another moan escapes your lips and your back arches.
"Yes, yes. Please, please, please. Don't let me wait any longer."
You put the blade next to your neck. It's so sharp that even the slightest contact with the body cuts through it. You sigh. It's too easy. You want more. More brutal. It won't satisfy you.
"What are you planning? I'm dying out of curiosity..."
You aim the knife at your stomach and stab it in without hesitation. With a sharp pull you slice the whole abdomen up to the chest. Laugh full of madness and excitement drowns the sounds of splashing blood and tearing out viscera. You don't think about the death anymore. You don't think about life either. You don't think about yourself. After all you're long gone.
"Only I am here."