silver lining ⇢ chensung

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a black-haired boy stared emptily into a window, relishing in the relief the slight breeze brought to him. it felt...refreshing, like it was something novel, the only novel feeling he was ever supposed to experience within the confines of his bland room.

he looked around, glancing lifelessly at the very scarce paraphernalia kept in a horribly neat fashion, giving him a sense of dread yet a sense of security; there were not any faint monsters in the background, staring at him.

the door was locked, and the bland off-white room was almost driving him insane. being the fact that voices in his head were even more stronger than normal people can experience, was killing him on the inside even if he had been experiencing this almost monotonous routine-like feeling every single day.

normal.

that's a word he was never granted to himself.

voices of actual people, talked behind him, behind walls. in their muffled voices, he knew they were talking about him.

they were talking about how he was not normal.

how he could not feel regular emotions like anyone else, which was more than enough for everyone to just throw him in a cell and shove capsules down his throat for the rest of his life with no other explanation whatsoever.

and he definitely did not want that.

sure, there were voices in his head and sometimes those voices have a form, smiling creepily at him from the corner, spiraling through his mind like a cacophony of noises at different wavelengths, all different but chanting the same thing-

prove them.

prove them that he was not the 'abnormal' person everyone though of him to be.

he wanted oh-so-badly to prove everyone that he could also live a normal life, and he did, countless times. but for some reason, no one wanted to listen to his pleads, dismissing them as some sort of side effect of the medicines he was having.

to be frank, he does not even take his medicines anymore. waving it off as just a ploy to trick him into thinking he was going through something unexplainable. skeet-so-fren-ya? what even is that?

he winced as he covered his head as the voices increased in amplitude. their whispers felt like little blades, carving the insides of his mind, destroying his sanity as each second progressed. the nights were even worse, those voices turn into beings, voids of nothing but darkness, encircling him like he was a prey to them.

despite all of them creepy fuckers, he still stood strong. he is not going to bow down for them skeet-so-fren-ya bitches.

his mind raced as he thought far and wide for a permanent solution to this small problem he was having. he wanted to escape, live like this normal person everyone is talking about.