Metalocalypse: Impending Doom

Chapter Seventeen: Pickles

Flashes of visions crossed Pickles' mind. A boy that looked like him but wasn't him stared back at him from the mirror, pale and red-headed and eyes aged with time. Next to him another redheaded boy with a faraway glance like he wasn't in the same exact realm as the other. More shadows aligned behind the first two; a meek child with russet brown hair covering most of their features, holding in their arms something small wrapped up in a blanket, two sandy blond children standing identically side by side with faces of self-importance and hidden sorrow in their eyes, a dark brown curly haired child with the hard features of someone who'd seen some shit... and finally, a black haired child with a face of steel and strength and leadership, but also of emotion.

Pickles watched hazily through the eyes of the aged child as he counted each head. There were seven. For some reason, Pickles felt as though one were missing.

As if on cue, a dark, shadowy hand seemed to grip the last child's throat and the skin of their neck seemed to illuminate as the child opened their mouth wide in fear and pain, eyes glazing and then darkening. The hands seemed to absorb the glow from the other's neck before retracting. There was a cackle deep within the darkness, and then a soft, sad sigh from both nowhere and everywhere.

More kids that looked familiar began to line up behind them, until they had blended into the background, too many to count, all with one particular child of each group with hands around their neck, and the same instance happening as before.

The voice spoke with odd softness that Pickles had never heard before. "The prophecy is in danger. Was always in danger. Blood shed... the death of a chosen one long before they were chosen... now it mimics, standing where they stood, destroying what I have tried to create.. Do not trust the one with death seeking eyes, stained hands, and bloody lips, and maybe you will survive... I'm sorry for failing you all..."

As Pickles began to come back to full consciousness, the visions and voice faded, as well as his memory of the encounter.

~~~

It didn't work... Nothing was working. Pickles hunched over with swirling vision, watching as his pink and bloody vomit splashed the toilet. The bag of drugs he had held onto for so long was emptied, his mouth covered in drool, bile, and flecks of unidentified substances.

Pickles purged once or twice more before angrily wiping his mouth and flushing the toilet. He was too weak to stand, so he resorted to sulking in the corner of the bathroom, feeling his pulse throb weakly.

It had only been a day after Salem and Pickles had officially ended... whatever was going on with them. Pickles would be lying if he said he wasn't hurting, angry, bitter, offended, depressed. Pretty much anything negative, Pickles was feeling.

He had originally accepted and agreed to Salem that this was the best thing, so that Salem might get some help. However, Pickles's selfishness had begun to rise the second Salem had walked out, choosing to throw things in his room, get high, cry, and then of course try to kill himself, though not before trying to find Salem again and realizing that they had continued to avoid him as they had always done. It was just their way of running away from him, Pickles was sure of it.

And so he angrily popped drugs into his mouth to see where it would take him; if it killed him, it killed him. Unfortunately, his body was immune to such a method and he could only throw up and hope he would choke on it.

Pickles continued to brood until he heard a knock on the door to his bedroom. He sighed, knowing immediately who it was, and stood up on shaky feet. At least it only looked like Pickles had gotten fucked up to get high, and not for anything else.

He opened the door to see Nathalia with her big begging eyes, giving him such a sickly sweet smile that automatically pissed him off. Without a word, he pulled out a bottle of booze from a stash he kept just for Nathalia, silently handed it over, and closed the door on her before she could say anything. He felt guilt gnaw at him for the rudeness, but he really didn't want to deal with her shenanigans at the moment. She didn't seem to mind, since he could hear her giggle drunkenly and then waddle off.