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This chapter contains gore and suicidal thoughts/ideation. Please read responsibly!
Hope you enjoy! :D
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Tommy hadn't expected death to be so painful.
But as his flesh was charred by the boiling lava, the heat melting his skin like the wax of a candle, dripping with a hiss off of his face and splashing into the liquid heat with a grotesque plop, all he could do was scream, unimaginable agony tearing through his body as he sunk further down into the lava lake.
His eyes drooped as the muscles holding them in place were burned away, ears curling into misshapen blobs, hair all but singed from his scalp in the fire; and still, for some reason, he was alive, praying for death, wanting nothing more than for the torment to end-- but there was nothing he could do. His only relief came as the lava, finished devouring his skin and muscles, attacked his nerves, silencing his screaming limbs one by one, a fiery executioner. He felt the heat burn into his cheek, exposing his blackened gums and jaw through a ragged hole, embers licked at his parched tongue, death could not come soon enough--
It was cold.
It was cold, and that was how he knew he was dead.
He was laying in something, something he couldn't quite describe.
It had the texture of water, but it was neither wet nor had any of the qualities usually associated with water. There was no weight to it, no temperature either, and as he sat up, it didn't cling to him, instead gracefully sliding down his back and returning to its still form around his legs.
Tommy looked around blearily, trying to take in his new surroundings, surprised to find that beyond the liquid-- was it even liquid?-- substance extending outwards seemingly infinitely in every direction, this place was barren. Above and around him was nothing, a pure void, not black or dark, just absent. In fact, as he observed more, Tommy came to the sudden jarring conclusion that color did not seem to exist here. There was no color; but there was also no light or dark, no texture, no smells or sounds or sensations he could perceive.
Was this death?
No. It couldn't be. Death was supposed to mean he no longer existed, but if he could still think and move and be, exist in some plane of reality, then he was still alive. Still here. Then what had he jumped for? What was the point of hurling himself from that bridge, down into the searing lava, if it was only to survive, somehow, some way? It was supposed to be over.
Tommy's hands shook as he brought them to his head, raking his hair back violently.
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. His breathing accelerated, only noticeable by the rapid movements of his chest; there was no sound to accompany the panic. Pressure built around his ears and torso, squeezing tighter and tighter until he could barely draw a quick gasp, his ears popped silently, and all at once the ground fell away from underneath him as he tumbled into oblivion.
When Tommy woke, he was inside a very familiar building. The sloping insides of his roughly-hewn home doubled for a moment, his vision blurring nauseatingly.
He blinked once, twice, in confusion before promptly rolling onto his side and dry-heaving, his corporeal body desperately trying to adjust, completely overwhelmed after being deprived of its senses in that endless glassy lake. Everything was new, a foreign experience; he flinched as air brushed against a large hole in his right cheek, lightly passing over teeth visibly connected to his jaw, gums having been burned away, revealing the skeleton of the boy beneath. There was something wrong with the eye above the gruesome cheek, its sight titled and hazy, and much lower than it should be.
Tommy stood shakily, nearly collapsing when he looked down and realized he had no feet; instead, his ankles faded into dark tendrils of cloudy wisps that smelled strongly of burnt meat and smoke. He took a hesitant step, bracing for a fall-- but instead he glided forwards, lurching slightly as he balanced on phantom legs.
He wasn't dead.
Or at least, not the kind of dead he had wanted to be.
The door to his home creaked open, and Tommy spun around, coming face to face with a short, brown haired boy, coffee-colored eyes wide in a mix of astonishment and fear.
