Danganronpa Oneshots

❓ Hallway to Hell ❓

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~ Warning ~ Suicide and mental health themes.

❓~❓~❓

Ouma walked down his hallway every day. He never stopped. He'd been here for years, when did this start? The purple-haired man couldn't remember what life was like before he woke up in this hallway, he couldn't remember what it meant to be free.

Every day was the same, and now it started again. He noticed a door approaching on the right of the hallway that was otherwise barren and lit by flickering candles. How he longed to enjoy the outside work and little things in life that made others happy.

As Ouma approached the door, someone entered his hallway. He knew to expect it.

Amami smiled and waved at him as he stopped before the green-haired man. "Hey, Ouma, how are you?"

"Just peachy," the smaller male muttered. He didn't have the energy to fuck around with emotions and shit.

"You're not doing too well, are you?" Amami placed a hand on Ouma's shoulder. He always did, he always picked up on any mood shifts. Some days in this hallway, Ouma could bounce around and grin as if nothing bothered him. Recently, he had no energy though, not after what happened when he reached the end of the hallway.

"Listen, little dude. You're an amazing person despite what others think. Don't put yourself down," Amami smiled. Ouma resisted the urge to roll his eyes, smiling instead.

"You're right, thanks Amami-Chan!" Ouma giggled. He wanted to slap the man and scream. If only it were as easy as ignoring everything. Amami knew of his anxiety around people and how he overthought everything. The greenette fully believed that was the reason for his constant sadness.

Ouma waved goodbye to Amami who left through the door again. He continued walking, only to find another door.

Saihara walked out and greeted him with a hug and a smile. "Ouma! I missed talking to you!"

"We talked yesterday." The purplette raised an eyebrow.

Chuckling, the blue-haired man awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "It's fun to talk to you. You make me laugh." Ouma chuckled. The two had a lot of fun together, they laughed and joked together for hours. Ouma still felt so alone though, no matter how many people came to talk to him. 

They never cared, they would pretend to want to help but Ouma couldn't burden them in the end. All he could do was laugh everything away as a joke and change the subject. It worked a lot, and maybe it was due to no one caring, or maybe it was because they didn't want to push him, but sometimes he wanted someone to pin him against a wall and demand for him to talk.

Saihara and Ouma said their goodbyes with a hug before Ouma continued on. His footsteps deafened him in the barren hallway. It was boring and monotonous, just like every day. It was fitting, the hallway represented him to a T. Dead, blank and a shell.

Ouma wanted more doors to open, but he knew they never would. There was the occasional person who walked through, told him how amazing life is, and then left. That only hurt more. Especially those who only asked him to vent. He didn't mind helping others, but for them to abandon him when he needed help in return made him sob until he fell asleep.

He approached the end of the hallway with nothing there but a chair and a noose hanging from a broken light. Ouma didn't hesitate in the slightest, he'd already tried this before.

Every day, a new method would be awaiting him. Sometimes there'd be a knife, other times there were pills, and once there was a pool.

Ouma stepped onto the chair and slipped his head into the noose before kicking the chair over and dropping. He didn't hesitate once as he began swinging and gurgling, his hands itching to rip the noose from his neck. It was hilarious how his body naturally held onto the instinct to survive when he accepted death.

It didn't take long before the world to black out, his body falling limp.

Then he woke up.

Just like every day.

Ouma glanced around to realise he was back at the beginning of the hallway and at the beginning of a new day. Every time he attempted, he ended up back here with a few injuries. His body was littered with scars and bruises from past attempts on his life.

He'd never escape.

He'd always be in Hell.