he was trapped.
there on his own will, and yet not able to leave.
two figures sat at the bed,eyes hollow and dead inside as they stared into the air in front of them, lips parted from the mumbling of certain words, eyes filled with tints of panic as mould and black spots filled their vision.
he was supposed to be caring for the old couple upstairs, every step of his silent and carefully calculated.
the two only ever stayed silent, apart from the occasional whispering of a name he didn't recognise, and all they did was stare at thin air, as if looking straight through one's soul.
except, no one was ever there.
hidden beneath the curtains of dark, his imagination filled with figures, wearing nothing but blood as the images of spots of mold on the walls and on his own body grew, and grew, and grew.
it got out of control.
he called for the people to have the mold removed, cleaned, and yet they claimed they couldn't do that.
"it's probably due to piping at the back of the walls," they said.
darkness folded in, closing like a claw onto his weakened, confused state.
eyes wide with fear and panic, he stared down at his arms, spots of black mold sprouting as he screamed.
alas, it was only a hallucination.
he watched at everything he had ever known fall apart like flowers, face white as a sail and forehead slick with sweat.
his parent's were dazed, far from sane.
soon, he was staring into his own eyes, hollowness filling them.
the months passed by like the night, and he was gone.
he fell apart.
three figures sat at the bed, eyes hollow and dead inside as they stared into the air in front of them, lips parted from the mumbling of certain words, eyes filled with tints of panic as mould and black spots filled their vision.
---
as endings go, his was not an especially pretty one.
"even the prettiest things rot."
---
anyone can guess what this was inspired by?
:)
just to let out some steam
