Mute |Shizaya| (Currently Editing)

Chapter 25 - God Syndrome

"I have the eyes of the darkened bloody sky. My skin is pale. And I'm the perfect thin. The only thing I don't have is a voice to express my true feelings."

WARNING: Blood and graphic descriptions of violence. This chapter may also include triggering events for some people.

The silence that surrounded the dark flat seemed to be screaming, deafening. The tick of the clock sounded ten times louder than it should be, bouncing off the walls, echoing for what seems like an eternity. The clock ticks at a steady pace, showing that time hasn't stopped, that the earth was still moving and that life wasn't on pause. The clock was a reminder to breath and to calm down. It was like a lifeline. The clock ticked, echoing becoming louder and louder.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The steady beat could have been a lullaby, to send one into a momentary darkness of hopeful relief.

Tick.

Tick.

Ti-

Until the clock's ticking stopped. The last remaining tick was like a haunting noise, lingering, and becoming louder, but faint for those ears that could only ring. So when the last resonating tick dissipated into the air, the silence that was so quite, it seemed too loud, with the drawn out ringing in the ears that were so deaf to the world still moving outside the flat's walls. The room could be described as lifeless, the silence only being broken by a soft mewl that sounded broken on itself.

A black bundle was caved in on itself, resembling a ball that softly shook, no noise emoting from it, as if it itself, was mute. Everything seemed black and white, the only color was the blond tail that was held up in the air, swaying at times as it tried to encircle one of the little ball's legs. Gasping noises started to fade into the black and white picture, the ringing only background noise to the soft desperate inhales of air, giving the scene a soft glow of melancholy. Gasps turned into sniffles, sobs undeniably there, just no noise to support the sorrow, just sounding like painful gasps and wheezes. Nails dug into covered shoulders, sinking into skin through a thin layer of black, they scratched downwards, making light white marks on the cotton, a softy noise resonating from the action. Hair was then pulled hard, nails sinking into scalp, lips being bitten hard to feel the warmth of familiar red liquid dripping down a pale chin. Scraping, tugging, pulling, biting, breathing, all in which were painful. A certain inhale of air seemed to sharp to be normal sob, seconds later shoulder shook slightly, and fingers let go of silky messy hair, to slide down to a pale neck, fingers molding into the shape around the neck, a firm yet gentle hold, nothing hostile about the action. The shoulders only like started to shake more and more, before painful noises started, a bit muffled as if stopped by fabric. The firm in a tight ball lifted its head, to only show a tear stained face with a sinister smile, the shaking of the shoulders now identified as laughter, quiet, painful, and broken. The hand on the cold floor wrapped around around a small object. Standing abruptly, the raven withdrew his arm and flung it forward as fast as he could, the object in his hand flying through the air ricocheting against glass, shards flying showing bits and pieces of a broken figure clad in black and a tear stained face. They hit the ground with muffled pads against the floor, the feline that was on the floor before running away.

The once sorrow filled eyes were now in anger, hate evident in the red irises.

"....at.....u!" Lips stained red moved, pained and scratchy noises left a scarred throat, tears still running down an angered face. Surging forward, hands gripped against a sink countertop, glass piercing fragile skin, blood smearing the pearly white surface, glass covered in the same life liquid. A hand formed a fist, as it plunged through the air, hitting the remaining glass off its frame, the mirror now scattered in the bathroom. The same hand had gripped onto a large piece of glass, crushing it in its hand, as blood flowed to the floor in large amounts, as the glass kept inching its way into a warm palm.