Ch 32 - Madness pt.2

22 3 6
                                    


Triggers : heavy graphic violance
Note : /.../ - refers to indirect text
(video)




/ - ... you don't know your place. Boys, it seems we'll have to teach him a lesson.

- NO! STOP!

- Hold him!

- GO AWAY FROM ME!

...

- Please... S..sto-op!/

..."

Cries.

Laughs.

Gasps.

Hits.

Screams.

Blows.

Chocking.

And screams again.

Time had stopped. Its seconds became years or even decades circling around the same moment like an infinite loop and in its center was a person, who couldn't escape that loop no matter how many times they tried.

How much they begged.
How long they cried.

Silence.

/ - Out already? Wake him!.../

Then screams again.

Trapped in a place worse than hell, worse than anything one would imagine with that one word, worse, because there was no exit. No help.

No hope.

And he was alone.

He, who even in heaven could still break to pieces.

He, with a mind tortured and wounded above all by himself.

He was being strangled in sheer pain ripping his body like a living monster. Raw instinctive fright took over him as he teared his voice, screaming for them to stop.

Crying... for help.

He, Han Jiwook.

...

Screams were getting weaker.

The breaks in between longer.

The struggle to free himself ceased almost completely.

The gasps and heavy breaths mixed together, as every breath Jiwook was making was a sounding projection of his utmost pain.

/- What now wrench? Finally got a hang of it? Say the right thing or we get to part two.

- ... I...I am so-orry... Si-...won./

Taemin teared his eyes away from the screen, trembling so much, his legs were giving out, he propped his hands on the edge of the table not to fall. He felt nauseous and about to faint altogether after he heard Jiwook's shattered words. Beside him Woojin was paler than a ghost, looking maybe worse than him, still with his eyes frozen wide, fixed on the screen like watching a living terror unfold before him.

Among all the living (or half living) persons in that room, cemented in a forced or shocking numbness with the quite, distorted sound of the speakers hovering over them in that air so heavy that if felt filled with ashes - there was one who felt more dead than alive.

He wasn't breathing. He wasn't moving.

Yet his presence was an absolute. In that moment, in that place, it was devouring everything around him including himself.

He was still.

Watching. Listening.

He always did that wasn't he?

Love of a SinnerWhere stories live. Discover now