Predator (DWT x OC)

73

TW// Intense and graphic descriptions of suicidal ideation, depersonalisation and thoughts of self harm

 If you feel like this would be triggering skip down to the marker (---), which will help you understand the plot progression for future chapters, and ensure that your mental health is looked after. 

Every step Sapnap drags me is agonising. My hipbone feels like it's grating against pelvis, every time my foot comes down spikes of pain spear straight through my leg. My head pounds, so loudly it drowns everything else out, the thoughts of the people I love exploding in a horrible cloud of exquisite colour, the screams that are still echoing in my ears, the shaking ground that never stopped.

Sparks of canary yellow and lime green ricochet off the blurry leaves, bouncing wildfire lit up in unnatural vividness, magenta rain hammering down from the sky. They slice into me, into my face, and my neck, and my arms and my stomach, burying deep down inside my skin, setting me alight with their sickening glow. 

I wish they had taken me too. I wish that I had gone up in thundering explosions painted with the same childish hues I used to use when I was a kid, wish that everything had burned, these scars, and these memories, and this person. 

This broken, unrecognisable person, this shattered, ruined girl. 

Wished I could have watched the world, one final time, etched in colour and bright green wildfire, watched the purple waves crash down around me, watched the yellow haze settle in over my fading vision, nerve endings fried, feeling nothing at all, except the end. 

Oh the end, the sweet release of nothing, and no one and eternal solitude that you won't even know, just that it will all end. 

But if I did, then Tommy and Tubbo would be all alone, and I would betray what Niki deserves, and Sapnap, and even Punz, now, another person on the list that I'm terrified to add too because it's just another opening to have the life I try and rebuild destroyed. 

If I died then, I would be breaking the promise I made to Quackity. 

And so, aside from longing hopeless dreams, and far off fantasies my shaken mind concepts, the beautiful, broken picture my exhausted brain tries to paint, I cannot die. 

That does not mean I will live. 

Life, living; words that used to mean something to me. Now, everything they used to represent has slipped through my fingers, smashed and beaten by the viscous waves of this existence into texture fine as sand, scattered in the wind beneath my feet, long gone in the distance, off into worlds I cannot reach. 

It's not about me anymore though, is it? It's about everyone I love, it's about those that I hate. It's about pushing them through this fucking mess, and tearing them down. I will rip my enemies apart, place their heads on goddamn pikes if I have too, send a warning to this cruel, callous Earth, and it's twisted people, that there has been enough bloodshed on this grass. 

That these beaches have seen enough bodies, and these waters have felt too many tears. The mountains have watched too much burn, these flowers have witnessed too much war. That I want them to bloom, and to grow, and to wilt and die when it's their time, and I want them to be able to live. 

And I should feel angry, and I should feel sad, and there should be the rage of all that is wrong in the world imbued in my heart, rolling sadness of all the might of a thrashing sea broiling underneath my skin, frothing in my chest, drowning my lungs. 

I should feel fear too, those startling ice cold daggers that lodge in my spine, paralysing terror that locks my joints tight, nightmares warped beyond what our human minds can conceive, needle-nails gripping my brain.