Big Mood: A 365 Day Mission

Day 83: Outlast Pt.1

Klay

     What...what the fuck happened?
     Why am I tied up?  I can't move my hands.  Shit.  My legs are trapped also.  I'm stuck in a chair, facing an exit.
     Holy crap.  I hear the door.  Do I play dead?  Awaken?
      The wood creaked open.  His hands...those filthy hands...they peaked through the crack.  Then his face popped up.  It glared at me with intense fury.
     But the way he walked.  The larger build.  Coolly, yet so intimidating. 
   
     "Just in time, my little angel."

     Fuck.  Naturally I would be calm and collected, but the more I looked around, the more I felt like I was in an insane asylum.
    Oh wait.  I was.
    
     "What do we have here?"  The filthy fingers lifted my chin up.  "Hm."

     The walls were rotting with blood and flesh.  Bugs crawled in and out of the sink.  A tray with wheels held rusted medical tools that were definitely used on hundreds of people without sanitization of any sort.
     I prayed that none of those tools would dig into me, but it seems that all hopes have gone down the drain.
     The filthy hand reached for a scalpel.
     I had to speak.

     "Please, no..."

     "Aw, you want to cry to mommy?"

     I watched him, in a swift motion, place the blade among my wrist. 
     The single ceiling light flickered, just enough so I could see the red rust and crusted blood across the metal. 
     My heart raced.  Oh fuck.
     The blade slashed the top of my wrist, and I grimaced.
     No.
     I groaned out in pain.  My limbs tightened up, and I felt myself arch my back farther than I've ever before.  I didn't want to see it, but I had to.
     I slung my head down to see the gash among my wrist, which was dripping in red.  Droplets fell to the floor, falling down a moldy drain where bugs crawled in and out.

     "Ahh...ah..." I breathed out.

     "Oh, I'm sorry.  Not your mommy."  The disgusting finger caressed my hand.  "How about that little man?  The one who was supposed to protect you?"

     He grabbed one of my fingers, and I couldn't stop grimacing. 
     It can't get any worse.  It can't get any worse.  It can't get any worse.

     "This is what you and Green Eyes get for putting me in here."

     The blade came down across my finger.
     It tore the ligament, and only got a quarter through the bone. 
     The flesh already began to change color to a darker, purplish tone.
     Blood immediately spurted out.
     I couldn't stop crying at the point.

     "Fuck...please...no more..."

     The tears rolled down my cheeks.
     My left ring finger hung off of my hand, limply swinging while attached to my bone.
     Then he grabbed the same finger, and I wanted to die.  He stretched it out, and the flesh tore with it.
     A new tool was in his hand.  A machete.
     He tugged on the finger once more, and the bone cracked.
     Why.  Why is this happening?
     I moaned out in terrible pain.

     "Stop...stop...please stop..."

    And the machete came down in a quick shift.
    This was the loudest I had ever screeched in my entire life.
    I had lost a part of myself.
    And I'll never be able to get it back ever again.

Steph

     How could I have done this?
     I knew I shouldn't have left Klay.  I should have pulled him through the crevice.  I didn't think they would have been able to reach him.
     Why would they throw him off the balcony like that?
     Where the hell could he be now?
     All I know is that I have to find him.
     That is...if I can stay alive.

     Let's see...what can I remember?
     Klay and I are journalists investigating the deal with this deserted asylum.  Or seemingly deserted.  It's apparently not.
     Fuck.  Klay could be dead.
     No.  No don't think like that.

      The place is rotting with skeletons, blood, and flesh that was stuck around for years.  Stories say that the main doctor had tortured every single one of his patients...leading to the patients turning their backs on him.
     Everything has gone to shit.  Klay and I are stuck at the wrong time and place.

     The main patient...the one who got Klay.  He suffered the worst.  I don't want Klay getting into that shit.  He could be dead—fuck.
     Stop thinking like that, Steph...

     Okay.
     I just have to look around for him.
     I paced down a dim hallway, only to find a wheelchair in the center.  It was facing the other direction.  No one was there.
     And so I walked towards it.
     I tip-toed carefully.  Just for safe measures.
     And suddenly...

     "Shit."

     A hand grabbed onto me.  Someone was in the chair after all.  They began whispering to me.

     "Help...me..."

     I was too scared.
     I panicked and tripped over towards the floor, away from the wheelchair.
     I just the arm had stuck onto me, tearing its flesh and ligaments away from the body.  The limb was still attached, and I screamed.
     The wheelchair immediately began rolling its rusted wheels towards me.  It's leftover arm reached out to me.
     I began crawling away.  Then I lifted myself up and moved me feet as fast as I could. 
     I needed out.
     I needed to live.
     I need Klay.

A/N:  lmao this is kinda crappy.  i started playing Outlast and it scares the shit outta me but gave me greaaaat inspiration.  so yea. lol.  if u want a better image of what is going in my head as i write, heres a little vid: (WARNING. VERY VERY GORY. LIKE, ITS BAD.  THIS IS KINDA THE SCENE WITH KLAY, BUT I IMPROVISED THAT PART CUZ I KINDA FORGOT MINOR DETAILS LOL) also i didnt proofread this lmao