I left the front door of the supermarket and stood bewilderingly under the space provided with shade by the large metal structure for the Joan's Produce neon sign. I hung there in silence, well, with what silence I could have. The whispers hadn't dissipated despite everyone being killed. The cruelness of the cosmos.
I had slaughtered the entire market. Taking a glance back at the supermarket, the cool blue glow of the ice had now turned into a warm, eldritch red. A red shade given spark by the amount of blood I had spilled. My clothes were stained and gobby with clots and fat. The sickle had cemented itself with dried bloodstains to my hand. My red curls dangled over my brow, pasted to my forehead with sweat. My hair reeked of metal, and my skin felt violated.
The experience had...impacted me deeply. And how could it not!? Suffocating with tightening walls constantly pressing up on you; the chill of hypothermia freezing my already oppressed lungs. My mind was punished with the trials of anxiety— all rooted in the claustrophobic spaces of shutting ice walls. They would creep closer and closer until mist was all that I could breathe; as if my muscles could breathe normally under panic.
That's not to mention the pain of everything. Four constant hours of fighting. Chomps to my jugular, slashes to my abdomen, gashes to my diaphragm and even more assaults to my brain. And just before the clutches of death would settle over me, my mind would plead to the recent two memories of compassion: 'Benilde's comforting smile and words' as well as 'Isaac's jolly laugh and dance routine'.
It kept me alive. Perhaps not mentally. No, that part of me died. It would happen to anyone when they're constantly on the verge of death over and over, stuck with nothing more but the sounds of their own screams of pain, the monstrous noises of distorted hell-beings, and the horribly loud screams of the 'whispers'. The noise that never gave up. I was growing sleepy, but maybe that was the sense of osmotic energy. It didn't matter, I knew I couldn't go to sleep even if I tried. The whispers wouldn't allow it.
Over a dozen bodies, a fight in which my blood spilled over every aisle. Unfortunately, no employee would ever have to worry about cleaning that up now. But I certainly had to witness that torturous experience. I still can't stop my hands from shaking...heh. The nerves, The pain. The terror I felt. IN MY HEAD!
A bite on my neck, the disgusting feeling of their necks coiling around. Claws gripping into my sides and picking out my organs. Invisible legs stomping over my limbs and crushing them. Eyes of apathy staring only in hunger. Whispers shouting in my head: 'stupid kid', 'weak', 'ginger', 'easy money', 'robbed', 'injured'. Shush! Please... 'A nuisance', 'an eye sore', 'street trash', 'apathy', 'strangers', 'sickening', 'he is poor', Again? Wh-Why? Stop. 'Imbecile', 'failure', 'smiles', 'shame', 'potential', 'girlfriend', 'abuser', 'ex', 'amnesia'.
Whispers turned to yells. 'Danger', 'Murderer', 'Leprosy', 'fire', 'killed Nasima'. The whispers wouldn't shut up. Forever and ever and ever the thoughts wouldn't shut the fuck up. The whispers wouldn't keep their disembodied voices closed. It...it bothered me. Constantly hearing it. I even tried to shift out of it! But I couldn't.
A snicker escaped my mouth, but it wasn't able to quiet out the maelstrom of thoughts in my mind.
"How can you try to make a world of your desires if you already live in it?", You already told me this before; don't have to say it again. Whispers into screams.
'PAIN', 'BLOOD', 'BITEMARKS', 'TERROR', 'TIRED', 'DELUSIONAL', 'COLD BLOODED', 'MURDERED' BENILDE', 'HURT ISAAC.' SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!
I lifted the sickle and jabbed it straight into my ear. My nerves buzzed with instinctive stinging. I felt my blood leak out onto my shoulders. The whispers died out a bit, just a brief respite, before they concentrated into my other ear.
'Yo! Cali...' and 'Sit tight and breathe!', both memories of jubilant exclamations by either Isaac or Benilde. I hurriedly patted and caressed my arms and shoulders, ruffled my hair and laughed; the way Benilde and Isaac had comforted me.
"Yo! Cali...Sit tight and breathe! Sit tight and breathe!", I muttered to myself irrationally, my voice straining and scratching out. The wounds healed. As they had done for the last four hours. The laughing fit had stayed with me, but I couldn't tell if it was because of the healing ritual, or if I had truly lost it. "Hehe...guess, I'll never know! Haha."
"You still hold fear in your heart. Fear of a premature death." Of course I do...I'm scared still...but I need to move forward. "Haha!". My hands never stopped shaking, and my eyes never settled from darting around. My neck would often twitch, making me spazz out like a jittering animatronic. My l-legs! They too joined in, this time they shuddered with nervous impulses. I truly had lost it.
When I left the ingress of Joan's Produce, the first thing I immediately noticed was the change in sunlight. In the dying light, I instantly saw the difference in the cycle of the solar phases. Checking my phone, it was now nearing 11:30 P.M. And now, every two minutes, the sun shifted, this time from its dying, orange glow to a setting, burned-out copper. No more pinks or purples or even intense mango colors. Where it was previously every four minutes that changed the sun, the two minutes now ignited a theory in my head. I see.
"You know what must be done then."
"Hehe..." the chuckle creaked out from my squirming lips. Of course I know what I need to do. I rose from my knees, letting my left hand drop from my eye. Iustita's sight captured everything now, the pulsing stabilizing.
Nasima, Benilde and Isaac. Volca, Sainte and Gestar. Dead. So, that leaves THEM! "Hehe." Three dead. Two more to go. To finally rid the cycle of the sun. "HAHA!"
My cackles roared insidiously across the empty parking lot. And soon they would mute out for a moment. But not Iustitia's sight or Maniae's ear. For the rest of the night, they would stay active. The entire reality had finally become distorted.
Like my mind had. I sighed.
YOU ARE READING
Clutching The Darkness
HorrorCalidris, known as Cali by his 'friends', is a university student who is burdened by the weight of his academic performances and his dysfunctional friend group. Aware of his miserableness and lack of joy in his life, he finds himself wishing for a w...
