Goretober 2023

The messy room of Killer

Killers room has always been messy, that's just how he is.

He doesn't care about being clean, doesn't find it worth his while.

There's something about the piles of clothing and knives littered on the floor of his room that brings him a sick sense of joy.

He doesn't feel that way anymore.

The clothing that keeps piling on the ground serves as annoying obstacles that do nothing but make it harder to walk.

The fear that takes over his mind about stepping on one of the many knives also on the ground doesn't help much.

There's a reason he doesn't like his room much anymore.

The only times he's in there at this point is to sleep (something he rarely does) and to hide from Nightmare.

Besides that he's around the castle, doing whatever he can so he can be useful.

He didn't want Nightmare to think he was useless now, he didn't want to die because he wasn't useful.

He might not be able to see anymore but he was still useful.

Eyesight is only a part of being useful, he could still serve, could still clean, cook. He is not useless.
Nightmare doesn't need to throw him out.

Being curled up in his bed was like heaven, he didn't need to worry about much on his bed.

It was a safe place, a place away from the dangers that might be only feet away from him.

His bed was a safe heaven, where he could express his sorrows without Nightmare coming in and fucking with him. The boss just let it happen, he liked the negativity Killer always seemed to be giving out now.

He was useful in that way too.

Killer was always seeking a way to be useful, he couldn't go on missions now. Murder - the third person there - went on all the missions now.

Killer handled everything else that he could, even if sometimes the only thing he could do was be very negative, it worked.

Some days - like today - he would just lay curled up in his bed sobbing. He's not sure why he's sobbing, it could partly be from his new blindness or from just where he was in general.

Being blind, well not the worst thing that could happen to him sucked. It happened only three weeks ago. Blamed himself for something Murder did, he's been doing that a lot, refusing to let Murder take too much abuse.

He wasn't going to lose his only friend, it was fine if he died. Killer knew Nightmare would just take another Killer but he doesn't know about Murder.

It was the first time that he knew that Nightmare had brought another person into the castle and he wasn't about to ruin it for him or the ones that come after him.

When Nightmare had thrown them both to the floor and demanded to know which one of them had entered his room Killer took the blame almost immediately. Not even giving Murder a chance to speak.

He knew not to go into Nightmare's room, the first and only time he tried Nightmare removed a chunk of bone from his skull.

Yet, he took the fall, prepared for whatever Nightmare would do to him.

His punishment was worse than it should have been because he should have known better.

Killer had been brought to the cell before Nightmare stabbed him in the eyes with his tendrils. His eyes had been permanently damaged, he could only see the faintest bit of the world with his right eye.

Still, not being able to make out much.

Being blind made a lot of things harder and only gave him more and more things to be punished for in the long term.

He couldn't clean as well, couldn't walk as well, couldn't use any of his knives anymore, hell, he couldn't even cook well anymore.

It sucked, he had to learn how to deal with it fast, yet, even when he began to get ahold of his blindness he was still being punished double time while also taking on most of Murders punishments.

He could live like this, he was going to force himself to live like this. He had too.

For once in his life he didn't want to die, sure, the pit was still there. The longing to just be nothing again was still there but he had pushed it to the very back of his mind. He couldn't leave Murder here alone until he was ready.

He couldn't let himself be killed until Murder knew how to do things around here.

So he stayed determined. Even if he was missing a hand, even if he was missing half his ribs.

Even if he was blind.

He refused to die.

He was determined.

Determined for the only one who remotely cared for him in this hellish world.

He was determined for Murder.

He forced himself to sit up, staring at whatever was in front of him while trying not to scream from the pain in his arm.

Fuck that hurt.

He stood, beginning to manoeuvre his room.

He really wished he kept it clean when he could.