𝗠𝗔𝗚𝗜𝗖𝗜𝗔𝗡'𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬! ━━━━ mao isara (on hold)

22. paintbrushes and escapes (tatsumao)

ᡣ𐭩 . no au? | angst

The noise of something banging loudly causes Mao to awaken with major fright. He jolts into a sitting position, tired eyes already wide and blinking the blurriness away from his eyesight as he looks around.

He finds himself in what could be deemed as a prison cell. Everything was grey and cold, barren of life. The walls, ceiling, and floor were made of the same grey cement. The bed he found himself sitting on had a rusty frame - once all black and now turning a horrible brown from the rust. The mattress wasn't soft. It reminded him of rocks. Uncomfortable and jagged with the springs begging to pop out of the thin fabric shell.

Besides all that, the only other thing Mao could see was a door on the other side of the room. A dark grey metal with a black screen for a window. Clearly, it was the type that was one-way. He can't see out, but whoever was on the other side could see in. In front of the door, Mao notices, was a tray with a plate and a plastic bottle of water. He slides off the bed and tiptoes towards the tray, kneeling down. The food was a simple fill of curry. Rice, meat, and vegetables with a thin slice of bread to dip into the curries remains if he ever left any.

The fork besides the plate on the right side of the tray was a white and plastic flimsy type - the types that come with takeaway foods when ordering for a delivery. Mao picks the fork up, using it to shuffle the mix of food around for anything suspicious. Who knows what could be in it...

"You should eat."

He yelps as a voice comes from in front of him. The fork drops from his hold as Mao jolts back, hands hitting palm flat behind him as he lands on his backside. Pain shoots through his whole body as he silently hisses. With looking up, Mao is met with someone around his age, their clothes tattered and bloodied, a mask adorned their face that had sharp cutout carvings for eyes, and a mouth made of stitches. The person before Mao stood tall and strong like a pillar.

"Who are you?!" The words slip from his mouth, anxiety racing through his core as his voice shook with fear.

Yet the person before him ignores his question, only to kneel down in front of Mao to pick up the fork he dropped in his fright. The person brings out a black hankerchief from his jacket pocket, wiping the dust off the fork and placing it onto the plate. The person focused on the food for a moment longer and tilted their head up towards Mao.

Shining purple eyes filtered through the inkling darkness of the holes of the creepy mask.

"You should eat." The person repeats themselves. "We can't go wasting resources now." They stand back up and walk back to the door.

"What do you mean by that?" Mao questions as he staggers into a standing position once more. Rubbing one hand into the palm of the other to ease the pain that shocked through him still.

Yet, just as before, the masked person doesn't answer. "Hey! Answer me! Why am I here?!" The person only shuts the door in front of Mao before he could make an attempt at escaping. "YOU CAN'T KEEP ME IN HERE FOREVER! HEY!" Mao bangs his right hand against the metal door. The ringing sound echoes through his ears like churchbells of the night.

After a few attempts of shouting and banging, he gives up. Hand slides down back to his side as Mao leans his forehead against the cold body of the door. A noise of frustration leaves between the small gap of his lips. "Damn it."

...

The next few days were just the same. He'd wake up on the same bed, find some food and a drink of water in front of the door, and shout for the mysterious person to answer his questions. Every so often, Mao would call out for help, but each try he attempted all ended in the same result. Nothing happens.