Cw: body horror, blood, description of injury, major character death
The cool earth tumbled off of Whumpee in chunks as they sat up, sputtering and spitting. A disgusting combination of blood and mud dribbled down Whumpee's chin.
They wiped dirt from their eyes and face. They were cold. So cold. Their insides even felt cold. But their lap was warm. And.. wet?
Looking down, Whumpee saw the blood pooling and realized that there was a slash leaving their torso open to the cool night air. Struggling to remember how they got to where they were, they pressed a hand to their stomach to keep their guts inside.
Recognizing where they were, Whumpee managed to stand and walk while holding their abdomen shut. This was a field out past town where Whumpee often went to paint. They had gone.. they had gone there today hadn't they? They usually painted alone. No, today was different. Why was it different.. oh. They had walked farther than usual into the woods and ended up at a house. Someone was there when they were painting. Who was it?
Walking down the hill, they found their painting supplies had all been tossed down a ravine. Who would do that?
Something sparked their memory. The owner of the house came out yelling and waving their hands as Whumpee painted the dilapidated house. The sun, highlighting its heavenly downfall as nature took over.
Blood seeped through Whumpee's fingers as they stumbled along. The lights of the town were up ahead. What direction was the hospital?
The owner of the house was waving their hands at Whumpee, what were they upset about? "-et away get away get away!"
Whumpee tried to give them the painting as an apology for being where they shouldn't. Feeling confused. That's what they remember. Usually people are happy when they receive a painting. They usually forgive Whumpee. This person didn't. It made them angrier? They grabbed Whumpee by the hair and dragged them to the back of the house.
As the memory passed, Whumpee gently carded their dirty fingers through their hair with their free hand to feel patches missing. Ouch. Very tender.
The street lamps buzzed with life as every single moth in the world obsessed over each one. Whumpee passed by storefront after storefront, closed for the night.
The owner of the house ripped out hair and hit Whumpee over and over while shouting incoherently. They were older than Whumpee by many years.
Looking at the police station, Whumpee decided to keep walking to the hospital. They would get there eventually to make a report but not now.
The owner of the house pulled out a wicked looking knife and with a swift motion, dug it deep into Whumpee's stomach, and pulling downward to the right. Whumpee remembered falling backwards and hitting their head.
That's probably why their head hurt so much. They gingerly investigated a knot on the back of their head, it felt crusty. They kept walking down the empty street.
Whumpe remembered being wheeled down the bumpy driveway in a wheelbarrow stained dark with blood. Blood that wasn't theirs. The sun hurt their eyes so they kept them shut. They could hear the older person muttering angrily in a language only they understood.
Whumpee walked past the decorative shrubbery next to the sign for the hospital.
Whumpee felt the wheelbarrow stop abruptly and the sounds of a shovel breaking ground ensued. In and out of consciousness, Whumpee felt themselves being picked up and dropped into a shallow, Whumpee-sized hole. As the sun-drenched soil was tossed over them, they heard gruff laughter.
