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Mitch awoke, and the depression enveloped him, as if it had been waiting, and without warning, a silent sob sent shudders through his body. Slipping from the bed, he pulled on his boxers and left the room, locking himself inside the restroom. He washed his face, ran his fingers through his damp hair, and caught sight of the boy in the mirror, staring back at him. Mitch glared, and so did the boy, he sneered, and the boy sneered right back. Every thin he did, the boy seemed to anticipate. His eyes flash, and something inside him snapped. "Who the hell do you think you are???!!" He barked. He wanted this to stop, he just wanted the boy to leave him alone. His temper flared, and his fist shot through the air, striking the boy that stared at him with an animalistic glare. And there was nothing left, nothing but shards of glass and his bloody knuckles. Then, they were there, and he fell to his knees, vision blurring. His body trembled, shuddering violently with every ragged breath he took. "No, don't." He whispered, voice a monotone. "What do you want.....? No! You can't have them, they're not yours, they're mine! You can't take them from me, they don't belong to you! Don't! Stop! Please, stop....STOOOOOP!" He screeched, voice turning high and shrill. The hands wanted them, wanted IT. They kept coming, armed with greed they came, doing anything to get it, to get them. Mitch shielded his eyes with his arms, throwing his body against the wall. He pushed with his feet, desperate to get away, curled against the floor. But they came nonetheless, and a blood curdling scream emerged from his throat. It was thrust from his chest like something vile, and took to the air. It split the air like a blade, swelling within the walls, ricocheting off of surfaces. It jerked off the sink, splitting and tearing through the toilet, leaving it-and the free standing tub- in rubble. It tore through the shower curtain, coaxing shards of glass into the air. The glass pierced the air in various directions. And Mitchell, he stood, body pressed against the wall, arms limp at his sides. A crimson substance dripped down his arms and hands, splattering the walls, floor and ceiling. It ran down his motionless body, face neck, and torso. His pupils grew smaller and smaller, until an electrifying green filled the whole of his eyes. They were wide and unblinking. His lips cracked and parted. There, Totsunai stood, open and vulnerable, the fight leaving him. They took it, took them, and he stood, submissive to The Hands Of Greed...
 Sardonic Excitement · Fri May 07, 2010 @ 02:39am · 0 Comments |
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