tw:// self harm- it's only a brief thought but still!
white tile picking up droplets of steam, liquefying the fog of the confined room in irony.
haziness of the brain doesn't fade away so easily.
it doesn't perfectly collect into dancing water. it doesn't clear away so soon. if you're lucky, maybe it'll release in the form of salty tears, quick to make you feel better.
but if you're not so lucky, the fog will just remain trapped inside. it's suffocating in its heat.
fiery rage, debilitating sadness; and emptiness once you finally accept the presence of the haze and that it won't be leaving you any time soon.
george always preferred steaming hot showers. it either had to be boiling hot or frigidly cold, otherwise it was a waste of fresh water. cold on the days he needed to feel something, hot on the days he craved comfort.
he lets the water consume him. pays attention to the way it beats down on his back and pours down his face as his neck lulls back.
dark brown hair blackened by the water clings itself to his forehead as the last of the soapy conditioner rinses down the drain.
he pushes the hair away from his face and sighs as he catches a glimpse of himself in the metallic shower head.
his reflection is deformed and wonky. misconstrued by a spherical lens and spewing water. his nose is too wide, forehead too large, lips too shrunken, eyes too unrealistic. it's like a plastic surgery gone wrong.
unless he really does look like that. he needs a surgeon. someone to cut him open and fix him back up to fit the social norms. stitches will help the healing process, but they'll leave scars.
perhaps it's best to never make any incision at all.
once you start it's hard to stop though.
he'd watched far too many 'botched' and 'my strange addiction episodes' over his time period of being bed-ridden.
it was just getting to his head, that was all.
surgery is expensive and the changes are usually irreversible.
his eyes fall down to the face razor sitting innocently on the tile shelf in front of him. so in reach, so tempting.
for if you have the money for surgery, why wouldn't you change your appearance?
his delicate fingers dare to graze over the handle of its plastic.
but the goal after a cosmetic surgery is to appear as if you'd had nothing done. it's why patients are always considered "more beautiful" or a "success story" once all the signs of surgery are gone.
and recovery time is lonely by yourself. because it's not really healthy healing if you didn't need the wounds in the first place.
his fingers falter over the razor's handle one last time admiring its ridges and power.
but it's not powerful. it's just an object. he, on the other hand, is a human very much alive who does in fact hold power. power to choose good or bad; healing or mass destruction.
and right now he thinks healing is good.
"hey dream?", he calls out.
it takes a couple seconds, but eventually a muffled voice responds. "yeah? do you need me to get you a towel or something?"
a small smile graces george's lips as his fingers finally completely fall away from the razor and instead quickly reach out to the bathroom door handle to unlock it.
YOU ARE READING
hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)
Fanfictionthis story starts at the end of george's life where he spends his last few moments on this earth writing a melancholy letter to someone who will never read it. to someone that doesn't exist in his story yet. but that someone soon will. • hs au • st...
