BLYTHE. (noun) Happiness, cheerfulness. Someone who's joyful.
Zoe doesn't remember the exact date she got ill. All she knows is that once she was fine and then she wasn't. Unable to find a way to cure her depression, at the tender age of eighteen, s...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
"TALK DAMMIT! SCREAM!" The man yelled at the young boy after kicking him on the stomach one last time while his friend watched tired from the corner of the room.
"I think that's enough, Claus." The man sighed. "You're going to kill him."
The boy would've laughed at them if he could. You can't kill something that's already dead.
Right at this moment as he laid on the cold ground of the warehouse while his past had come for him, he could swear he was dead.
He saw blood dripping from somewhere on his face and down his body. It dripped like little drops of water falling from roofs after a very heavy rain. The red liquid flowed down his chest and sneaked under the holes of his shirt, coating his bruised naked skin.
He could see a lot of blood but he could feel nothing. God must've felt so bad for the boy, it must've taken his ability to feel pain. Or perhaps did this mean he was going to meet his end soon?
Ha, no. If that was the case he'd have been dead a long time ago.
"YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT!" The man gripped his hair with his fist, forcing the boy to stand up so he could be face to face with his demon. "We're the reason you're alive! You dare leave from here! Huh? What did you tell that f*cking man?"
The boy stayed silent, gathering the courage to look at the man square in the eyes. Eyes that were red from continuous syringe sessions and all sorts of drug injections on top of sleepless nights.
The man backhanded the boy on the face, the sharp, huge ring adorning his chubby fingers piercing the skin, creating another source for blood to freely ooze. The man released his hair and the boy's body fell on the floor.
"DON'T EVER TRY TO ESCAPE AGAIN! THIS IS YOUR F*CKING HOME!" He shouted, kicking the boy restlessly, getting angrier when he didn't react.
"I'll handle this Claus." The other man chuckled, throwing his needle as soon as he had injected the content on his blood.
Claus straightened himself up, scowling at the young boy. He was pissed. No matter what he did, the young bastard didn't bat an eye. Was this child even a human? At times he was even terrified of the thing this boy had become. The thing they had turned him into. He was like a lifeless machine. What could possibly happen when he gained a free will of his own? When he fought back? Hopefully that would never happen.
Claus stepped outside and his friend took his place.
The boy waited patiently for the other man to take his turn and have his fun while he laid on his back, glancing at the ceiling and wishing for this hell to be over.
Why couldn't he just die? Why couldn't someone take his life right this moment? Wasn't dying supposed to be easy?
An image of his guardian angel flashed across his face and for the first time he flinched and almost groaned from the agony it caused. Before meeting her, he'd wondered how he managed to stay alive in his personal hell but now... now, how could he possibly survive when she was out there alone? She probably hated him for breaking his promise to never leave her alone.
