The discovery. (Flug as mono) ((ON HOLD))

CHAPTER EIGHT: ~Mnemophobia~

TW/S: Lots of cussing, malnutrition (not descriptive), panic attacks

Fun fact: Mnemophobia is the fear of memories. A condition where past experiences trigger intense anxiety. It's more than mere discomfort; it's a visceral reaction to memory recall. Imagine the mind's protective instinct going into overdrive.

(No ones POV)

His face was pale. His brain was foggy. Like a mist in a field of nothing.

Nothing made sense. Was he free? Or was a small part of him still attached to that abyssal hell?

His hands grew clammy as he backed up slowly until his back hit a tree.

He couldn't even feel the bark scratch into his hands, leaving the blood to slowly prickle out his hand raw.

He was frozen still. He wasn't thinking straight. Nothing made sense. What had gone wrong?

The hand on the TV grew more and more prominent as ¿F̵̜̜͎͉̯̜̓͂l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓ǧ̷̡̟̲̹̩̱͉̮̭͇͚̮̖̟̽̓͊̔̓̕'s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ? breathing grew more rapid.

The glowing light grew by the second, covering everything in its wake-the world around it warping in unnatural ways around the TV as the static grew.

BOOM

The TV emitted a large shockwave that sent him backwards as his body was smashed into the tree where he stood.

.

.

.

.

Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... breathe out...breathe in... breathe out...

.

.

.

.

Until there was nothing he could see anymore.

The surroundings were dirty and moldy, but she made do. She had no choice.

She looked around quickly to make sure she wasn't being followed. Not uttering a sound.

Her whole body ached with pain. Hunger pangs filled her body.

When she was sure she was okay, she pulled open a little hole in the wall and crawled through, only just fitting.

Once inside the walls, she put some wood back into the hole to cover it.

She didn't dare utter a sound in fear of being discovered.

It made sense. She HAD to be quiet.

Once in, she breathed a sigh of relief and observed her surroundings to see if there were any abnormalities.

She saw a small shelter made out of old, worn-down wood balanced between the walls that nearly resembled a shack. A bunch of old dirt on the corner that had moss, mint and blueberries. There was a very small pile next to it with some dead rat meat and an extremely sparse amount of nome meat.

This is where she stayed. This rotten old pile of wood is what she was forced to call "home" even though it never looked or felt like one. At least it was much better than outside the walls she desperately clung to, like a balance rope of line and death with every day leaning slightly.

She hated having to grow stuff, she hated vegetables in general, But she had to. It was her last resort if she ran out of food for good. But anything was better than those sausages; you can never see them the same once you know what they are made of.