Bringing You Down With Me (Skittles/Happy Hank X Sheriff )

Part 9

It was barley a whisper. Sharp, quiet, and faintly familiar. It echoed around the black space, still somehow causing them to soon awake; from the slumber they had not realized they had been in.They grumbled as they struggled to move, their back cracking when they slowly got to their feet—setting off another surge of pain throughout their lower-body.

They looked around. No way was this purgatory. Was it heaven.? No.. There was no way of that, either. Nobody even knew if heaven existed, and if so, definitely nobody in Nevada was going to wake up after death there. Some people might have said—if they had the chance—that they deserve to be in "heaven," but they themselves didn't quite believe it. What great accomplishment had they done? The only accomplishment going to "heaven" for, was to save Nevada from this Madness. Could they do that.? They weren't sure. They didn't want to help people for popularity, or attention.. he genuinely wanted to spread happiness in this murderous, bloodthirsty state, people call home. 

They slowly walked, and lifted up their hands, taking their first good look at them. They were small, fragile looking.. but we're rough, and a quite pale. Blood seemed to have accumulated in his palm, dripping down from his shoulder. They gently clenched their hands into a fist, not having much strength. A few drops of blood dripped onto the ground. It gave the smallest amount of diverse color, at least. 

They hadn't realized they were still advancing forward, until walking into room; covered with mirrors. Everywhere they looked there was a mirror.. here. There. Everywhere. They walked up to one, looking immensely at their reflection. They were covered in thick, red, blood. Nearly head to toe. Large groups of dried blood—mostly around the areas of their throat, lower calves, and chest—made it hard to recognize themselves. Their face was colorless.. pale would've been an understatement. They peered closer to the clean, shiny mirror.

Skittles) I-is that.. me.?

He gently ran his hand down the side of the mirror, not meaning to smear it with blood—trying to wipe it away just added more blood to the area he was trying to clean. 

He looked over at another mirror.. someone new. He didn't see his own reflection, even as he stepped closer, getting a better look at the figure in front of him. They had a beautiful smirk on their face, showing a golden tooth. A nice appearance to say the least. Fitted with a badge on their jacket, and a badge in the center of their hat; dark hair that was sticking out fluffed from beneath. They had a silver and black revolver tucked in on their hilt. They looked so familiar. Warming, almost. He wanted to reach up and hold them. Wanting to feel their touch once more. He leaned forward, trying to hear as the taller figure whispered something before disappearing. He jumped forward, eyes wide, trying to grasp onto what he had just seen. His hand hit the mirror, and his knees landed on yet another mirror below him; shattering to the far corner from the holes he created where his knees were. He trembled, turning in disappointment. 

Looking up from his small pout, he saw another figure. This one was much taller than the previous. There wasn't much to see, as they faced away from him. He could make out the lean body figure, though. They wore all black, the only skin he could really see were their fingers, and a bit of the back of his neck. A bloody knife was held loosely in their hand. He felt safe, protected even, when looking upon them.. but they soon, too, disappeared.

He stood, wearily looking up towards the ceiling- or what should have been. No. Another mirror. Someone new. Their head was turned away, and they had a cigarette propped in their mouth, slightly leaning on his lower lip. A grey visor and black headphones decorated their head. They had a baggy gray vest-like jacket on—more noticeable with their short height—and a belt around their waist held a pack of cigarettes. He was holding the thumbs up towards what he assumed was another person, it was flaming. They were smiling brightly, their cheeks were blushing a soft pink.

He frowned, feeling an ache in his heart. He knew he should know who these people are. They felt familiar. All too well. But he didn't remember. In fact.. he only remembered when he was surrounded by the fog. 

He turned back to the blood stained mirror, not wanting to watch as they too, disappeared. The blood hadn't dried at all, as it was slowly dripping down from where it was massively smeared. He guessed the other mirrors around the room held people inside. He didn't bother to look. He stared through to his own reflection. These were all reflections of people he thought he once knew.. felt like he knew. So how come when he stared at the person that was supposed to be himself.. it didn't feel familiar? Didn't look at all, familiar.? He peered closer into the reflection, now seeing the same three people standing behind him, they stared. Now noticing the black-clothed figure had red goggles, that seemed to burn a hole though him as they looked down upon him. The flame-thumbed smoker was no longer smiling as he once was before. And the one that gave him warm feelings.. he could no longer see their face. He couldn't recall what their face had looked like when admiring them in the mirror moments before, either. 

Turning his head around, expecting to see the figures staring down upon him—silently hoping to get a glimpse of the first ones comforting appearance once more—was brutally disappointed to see nobody. He looked back in the mirror, and there they were behind him again. He stood up, turning not just his head around this time.

Skittles) I-I'm sorry.! I know I.. I-I should remember.. you all.. b.. but I don't.!

He fought back tears... Apparently not very hard—because seconds later, tears streamed down his face; cleansing streaks of blood off his face where he had cried. He looked into the mirror again, and they were gone.

Skittles) I.. I don't even remember who I am..