- in which a boy gets woken up in a large box, just to find himself being taken to a new home. their home is perfect, until a new boy comes along and helps them escape for a better life. a peaceful place to call home is what they're willing to die...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝welcome home, home, home, home❞ °✦.° ( can't pretend — act one ) °✦.° 『 chapter zero 』 ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
His stomach churns uncomfortably in his sleep with a large sense of danger, making his eyes snap open from whatever deep slumber he's in. For a moment, he is frozen in place. Then, the sound of clanking metal causes Christopher to jump up from the freezing cold floor. His chest painfully aches with an unfamiliar emotion – a feeling of heartbreak, but for some odd reason he can't remember why. Feeling a throbbing pain in his temple, Christopher reaches up and presses his fingers against his head, only to draw them back with a sharp hiss and now blood-stained fingers.
The warm liquid slowly drips down the side of his forehead and into his eyebrow – putting two and two together he comes to a quick realization that his forehead has a gash in it. What's going on? Where am I? he thinks to himself. Fear surges through his veins, and Chirstopher tries his best to hide it by thinking of one of his happy memories, but nothing comes to mind. He can't remember even the simplest things – his name included on the long list of the forgotten.
Sticking his feet to the ground, he tries his best to push himself off the floor. He stands slightly hunched over, attempting to steady his stance with the way the lift he's trapped inside is swaying back and forth, making his stomach twist and turn with nausea. Christopher is on his feet for a short second before the room jerks upward, making him fall back onto his butt; nearly hitting his head against the wall.
An eerie whine echoes off the screeching metal walls, and fills Christophers ears, causing the boy's eyebrows to scrunch together out of discomfort and annoyment. He tries his best to tune out the loud noise, but no matter how hard he pushes his hands against his ears, the noise continues to get louder and louder.
After what feels like hours – no more than ten minutes – a loud clank rings from above him. He backs himself into the nearest corner, and wraps his arms around his torso, stopping himself from shivering, and tries to get rid of the fear that has made its way back. He releases a shaky breath as he looks up, his lips pursed together. A straight line of light appears across the ceiling of the crammed box, and Christopher watches as it expands. A heavy grating sound reveals double sliding doors being forced open.
He tilts his head away, and uses both his hands to shield his eyes from the light that's stabbing through the crack and blinding him – due to being stuck in the darkness for so long, the brightness is something he's not used to. Hearing noises – voices – from above, fear squeezes in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"It's the box." A boy's squeaky voice rings through his ears; merely based on the high pitch of the voice, he can only assume that whoever is on the opposite side of the ceiling must be around his age.
A different boy speaks up. "Why is it here? It's not supposed to be here yet, it's early." His voice is deeper than the first boy's voice.
Someone scoffs. "It doesn't matter, just open the thing up!" He exclaims, his voice cracks mid sentence.
