A Tale of Faux Realities

Ringing

Black.

Pitch black.

Jonathan was awake an conscious, but all he could see was black. He felt startled. Milky eyes cut through the void, darting around the room, left-right, left-right, up-down, up-down. The motions were hasty, but there was nothing he could make out. He tried to move, but to no avail, something kept him perfectly in place. He could move his arms and turn his head, but that was the most of his ability. Jonathan felt around the darkness, no walls confined him, only the vast space surrounding him. An invisible wasteland. His eyes started to adjust to the darkness, he couldn't even tell if he was blinking. He tried to call out to anyone, anything, but his voice was unheard. His vocal chords ached after just one word,

"Anyone?"

The silence was loud, so loud it started to deafen him. His ears stung, then the ringing started. A low buzz soon turned to a loud, shrieking tone. He wanted to grab his ears and cover them, giving him some sort of comfort, but his translucent chains limited his movement. Instead, he grabbed his arms and scratched them, the noise caused an itch, an insatiable itch everywhere in his forearms. He scratched and scratched, faster with each stroke. It burnt, he wanted it out, he HAD to get it OUT. It hurt, he teared up from how much it stung. The more he scratched the more it burnt. The relief was only momentarily. He jerked and fell back, but he felt something down his forearms, the burning sensation stayed but he felt,
trickling.

tap tap.

tap tap.

tap tap.