Distasteful.

A Hospital.

Our hospital was supposedly known to fight back against all forms of death wishing to take another soul and heal even those in critical condition with various diseases of all sorts. It was seen as a nurturing environment that had more than enough funds for critical research of antidotes of incurable ailments alike. If that was true, I'd be sane.

This hospital was full of gruesome degenerate mortals that rolled over just by the idea of barbarity.

Not everyone was some cruel individual though. I knew of one of my companions that was kind and quite encouraging to say the least. I thought of myself as sympathetic as well, though I didn't show it much.

Well, there was a reason sadism thrived in this hospital. The weak were slaughtered, and this companion of mine hadn't found herself so lively one day.

Niya Compton, previous prominent medical professional in the field of Ophthalmology, and a genius of her kind. I don't know what circumstances had brought her to a place like this, but she certainly didn't belong. She was most likely the most compassionate being in this place. That was, before she'd died.

How did I know she'd died, and not just ran away? I found her finger during the hospital's mealtime, in which they provided free lunches for employees, in my rice. Her finger had a small, butterfly tattoo that I was familiar with. She'd accidentally made it herself, when she'd stolen her mother's tattoo machine, and tried drawing on herself. Maybe she'd just been copying her mother's example, practicing being a tattoo artist, but nonetheless, her efforts were in vain because she hadn't ended up one in the first place. Her clumsy attempt had left a permanent mark, the imprint going quite deeply into her skin. It now showed a butterfly scar made by a foolish toddler, the scar having slight traces of blackish tattoo dots aligning the pink, dried flesh.

I knew what she'd gone through during her last moments. Brutal torture, guttural screams, and a painful loneliness. I'd seen colleagues, friends, best friends of all the kind killed before me, and this hospital wasn't relatively kind when it came to death, quite plainly so. I had to listen to their screams, watch as life left their eyes. The upper ranks of this hospital made sure we didn't revolt with such examples. Gruesome examples.

I'd have to watch as colleagues choked against bare hands, purplish bruises left on soft skin as their eyes glazed over. Sometimes they'd skin their heads, the hair-bearing scalp glistening with fresh blood as it was held in an individual's arms inhumanely. Sometimes I'd listen to the victim's brief scream before their vocal cords were pierced and the sufferer was drowned by their own blood. I'd watch as the gore, metallic and gleaming, flowed and was ripped from their skin, covering them like a warm bath. The carnage would drip from various fingers, staining clothing and skin.

Maybe it was just an excuse I'd told myself, but I couldn't help them. I'd meet the same fate if I'd tried. This hospital was teeming with barbarous imbeciles.

I sighed, and brushed my hand through my engulfing, dark hair. It was starting to bother my vision, so I'd lightly brush it back behind my ears. I'd set my mind onto cleaning up after my patient who had just died. That's the least I could do.

Quietly tidying up my station, I was about to move him to the main office, when Azel Banzter suddenly opened his eyes, and then locked them with mine. He had a horrific expression, and his silent posture seemed to hold all my secrets in the tiny flecks of his damaged eyes.

My breath quickened, in what was a mixture of terror and precaution. My arms hurried to my sides in a defensive position. Azel's eyes widened beyond imagination, the blackness behind his eyeballs wrinkled and revolting. Soon, the organ popped out of its sockets, and blood gushed from the insides, streaming down the moveable bed he'd been laid on. The red liquid fell to the ground in enormous puddles. He brought his hand to his mouth, and started biting on a finger, carnage submerged in that disgusting mouth of his. He was eating himself alive.

He'd continue, skin tearing and flaking off his flesh as blood poured profusely from his numerous self-made wounds. The gore continued piling up and up, blood streaming in like a river of dyed bathwater. It wasn't dyed though; it was the own flesh and blood of a man. It was a flood of a horrific, terrifying sight for one such as myself, and the vital fluid started to drown me and the man alike, and I swam towards the surface as the substance continued flowing. It came into my mouth in large quantities as I tried breathing for air, the unique tangible flavor being all that I could taste.

My heartbeat was rushed, and I was now staring at the limp body that floated uselessly in the flood of liquid, and I'd soon be just like that body. Maybe I was dying sooner than expected.

In an instant, Azel was in his whole form once again, and everything was as it was supposed to be before he'd started tearing himself apart. I gasped for breath and rose once again to a standing position. So, I wasn't dying today apparently, just more insane than the previous days. I briskly proceeded to a water fountain nearby, and a container of pills labeled Xanax, which was used to help aid stress and anxiety, from my pocket. I brought the pills to my waiting mouth, placing them inside. I gripped the metal station tightly, pressing a shaky finger to the tiny button that automatically let loose small amounts of water, drinking desperately until I was gasping for breath between mouthfuls of liquid.

Once finished, I'd head back to Azel's body, observing the dead flesh of his. I'd pull at it lightly, seeing if it would come off as before, if it was simply masking something sinister underneath. I was relieved when the skin stayed put, though not surprised, and I'd shift the sheet he'd been laid on over his body, covering the pale corpse underneath.

My empathy was getting to me. Azel Bantzer was not coming back, and I couldn't do anything about it.

A person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts 😫😫😫

(1088 ;3 Words)