Katya Edition: Second Edition

Fortieth Corpse: An Abyss of Grief

"Can't you just let me die?"

+++

Fortieth Corpse | An Abyss of Grief

+++

[Z-day +14 | Apr. 28 | 06:40hrs]

"Katya..." Thomson murmured softly, his grip on my chin loosening before he pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair in what seemed like a mixture frustration and helplessness. He knew. He understood who was behind that door, why I acted and what was waiting for us. I could tell. Even though I felt blinded by grief, I could still tell.

The blue of his eyes was dull and pained, like my pain was so strong he could feel it. I laughed. I don't know why but a laugh ripped from my throat, making me feel like the inside of my throat was being torn apart from the abrupt sound. I felt strangled.

I felt the bloody blades slip from my numb fingers and I heard them clatter to the floor, but I couldn't stop laughing. Hot tears dripped down my cheeks rapidly even while I laughed. I didn't stop to wipe them, and I didn't lower my voice, just laughing like I'd just been given the funniest joke in the world.

No.

I was the funniest joke in the world. Me. I was the butt of the universe's dark humor. I was that one pitiful character that was needlessly punished over, and over, and over again! For the amusement of the rest of the world, because slapstick was just that funny right? It was funny to watch someone suffer and be in pain, right?!

RIGHT?!

I was no longer laughing, my laughter twisted into howls of rage and pain as I turned and started slapping anything my hands could reach down to the floor. I jumped over the counter and stormed over to one of the stands at the head of the aisle, pressing both of my hands against it as I grit my teeth with the strain of it. I didn't care how heavy it was. I wanted to see it in shambles. Just like my life. I wanted to see it broken, just like my heart. I wanted to make it filthy, just like my mind. I wanted it gone, just like my family.

I let out a soundless scream of rage, the burn of it spurring me on and lending me strength. The stand tilted before falling over with a jarringly loud crash, bottles shattering and liquid and pills scattering across the floor. But it did nothing to quell my anger or ease my pain. It wasn't enough. None of it was enough. I needed to watch more things get ruined. I wanted to watch everything burn. Nothing mattered anymore. It could all go to hell.

A low growl left my throat as I moved onto the next stand and pushed it over with far less difficulty, but again my rage only grew and I screamed hysterically, stomping up and down on the ruined medicine like I was insane. And maybe I was. Maybe I wanted to be. I was so tired of it all. Why fight when I just lost everything in the end anyway, hm? What was the point?

I moved over to the shelves in the aisle, the irrational part of me, the only part of me left, wanting to push over the entire aisle. I ripped the products on the shelves in front of me off, sending them crashing to the floor carelessly. I didn't care if it was lotion, medicine, or anything useful or useless. I didn't care anymore. A loose tack dug into the flesh at the side of my hand, ripping me open and spilling fresh red blood. I felt the sting, but I felt no other pain. I just stood still, watching the blood flow. The remaining biters in and around the pharmacy seemed to come alive the minute I was injured, moaning and groaning loudly, almost like they were part of a choir.