Chapter Eight

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"I want this to end."

After I had said that, Akutagawa had abruptly stood up and walked to the door. I thought he would leave but instead he stopped, his back still turned to me.

"You're weak." he sneered, "why don't you fight?"

"I'm not sure I know how."

I sat in the dark, and the silence, alone. Akutagawa had kept his promise. He had stopped slowing down whatever was happening to me. It was hell but, I still stood by my decision. It was better than waiting.

The lights switched back on and I felt a sigh escape my chapped lips. You never think the dark is scary until the dark room you're in is scary.

That doesn't make sense.

The room I was in was already scary and the dark just made is scarier. 

There we go.

More needles lowered from the ceiling, sticking into my leg. I was so used to the feeling that, I didn't even flinch. I felt some strange liquid being pushed into my veins. Another hand came down, holding a large serrated saw. I felt the cold metal of the saw against my thigh and knew what was going to happen. I felt tears fill my eyes and it broke my skin the smallest bit. Not tears of pain but, tears of sorrow and regret. Tears of loss and yearning.

For a hand.

For a family.

For an individual person.

For freedom.

Akutagawa's words echoed around my head.

You're weak.

weak.

weak.

weak.

weak.

weak.

weak.

Yes. I am weak.

I wallowed around in my own self pity.

The knife, more saw than knife, cut a little further into my leg as the needles pumped more shit into me. In this moment, I could feel everything that had happened. Bruises, cuts, and burns alike all seemed more real than when I had got them. I could feel the ghost of a hand lying next to me. The saw cut further into my leg. I hadn't been eating well or getting much exercise so there wasn't much meat left until it reached bone and-

Why don't you fight?

I don't know how.

Why don't you fight?

I don't know how!

WHY DON'T YOU FIGHT?!

I DON'T KNOW HOW!!

FIGHT!

The insignificant, five letter word, took over.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

I sat up, with strength I didn't know I had, feeling the straps burst around me.

Fight!

Fight!

Fight!

Fight!

I grabbed the metal arm sawing away at my leg and ripped it from the wall. The room filled with impossible shadows.

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGHT

FIGHT

The shadows closed in, forming a billowing cape behind me. I held my right arm up and watched as a new hand sprouted from the stitches.

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

All the remained to show of my injuries were scars. Dots and lines scattered across my arms and legs. A bit of dried blood here and there. A scar around my right wrist, my left pinky. A few toes and a long one halfway up my thigh.

I stood up, the shadows balancing my out of practice gate as I blew the door off. Outside stood people. Terrified faces. My tormentors.

I let out an animalistic roar and the shadows attacked. They swam across the floor, dropping people where they stood.

I was in a daze. Confused as to why the shadows were helping me. I did not know if this was just a dream, if I'd at last gone mad, or if the scene playing out before my eyes was real.

The shadows stood, awaiting their next instructions.

The edges of my vision began to go black, blurry.

"Catch me." I whispered.

As I fell, a familiar figure walked toward me, sheathed in black.


status: edited October 26th, 2023


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