Gutterflower /4
zero / one / two / three
The people on the TV were screaming.
Jaejoong couldn’t stand it, moaning into the mattress as he pulled the pillow over his head. Their screams echoed through is head, bouncing off the empty spaces and making his brain reverberate.
He kicked convulsively at the covers, his stomach roiling. His fingers clawed the pillow, feeling stiff and frozen like frozen chips ready to snap.
It hurt, hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt
everything
hurt
He screamed into the mattress, lungs filled with dust and grime and pain, and with the intolerable hunger in him that he couldn’t get out, couldn’t escape.
Something in him twisted again, and he made a mad lurch to the edge of the bed, only just managing to get to the dustbin again before he wretched.
The bile burnt his throat, the acidic aftertaste of the yellow liquid vile but inescapable. His stomach felt hollow, like something had - was - gnawing away at it, through it. His hands were dry and his lips raspy as they met, wiping away the saliva stuck to his lip.
He needed water, he knew he did, but he couldn’t move. He lay, hanging from the edge of the bed, until another wave of pain wracked through him, causing his body to jitter and spasm.
Moaning, he rolled over, curling into a ball and clutching the sheet below him as the world blurred in his eyes and he kicked again unknowingly. Voices filled his head, a raucous mess of words he couldn’t make out, just the derisive, angry tone of them. He was bad, so bad… They'd be so angry when they found him. He knew they would. Knew that they would find him too. Soon, probably. He wondered why he waited. What was the point?
Stop, just stop, he told himself, whispered breathlessly into the mattress. Stop this, you idiot. But nothing changed, and the voices in his mind drowned out anything he might have told himself.
In the background, he could hear the bright, senseless chatter of the multi-coloured rainbow people on TV. They wouldn’t shut up either.
The people on the TV were screaming.
Jaejoong couldn’t stand it, moaning into the mattress as he pulled the pillow over his head. Their screams echoed through is head, bouncing off the empty spaces and making his brain reverberate.
He kicked convulsively at the covers, his stomach roiling. His fingers clawed the pillow, feeling stiff and frozen like frozen chips ready to snap.
It hurt, hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt
everything
hurt
He screamed into the mattress, lungs filled with dust and grime and pain, and with the intolerable hunger in him that he couldn’t get out, couldn’t escape.
Something in him twisted again, and he made a mad lurch to the edge of the bed, only just managing to get to the dustbin again before he wretched.
The bile burnt his throat, the acidic aftertaste of the yellow liquid vile but inescapable. His stomach felt hollow, like something had - was - gnawing away at it, through it. His hands were dry and his lips raspy as they met, wiping away the saliva stuck to his lip.
He needed water, he knew he did, but he couldn’t move. He lay, hanging from the edge of the bed, until another wave of pain wracked through him, causing his body to jitter and spasm.
Moaning, he rolled over, curling into a ball and clutching the sheet below him as the world blurred in his eyes and he kicked again unknowingly. Voices filled his head, a raucous mess of words he couldn’t make out, just the derisive, angry tone of them. He was bad, so bad… They'd be so angry when they found him. He knew they would. Knew that they would find him too. Soon, probably. He wondered why he waited. What was the point?
Stop, just stop, he told himself, whispered breathlessly into the mattress. Stop this, you idiot. But nothing changed, and the voices in his mind drowned out anything he might have told himself.
In the background, he could hear the bright, senseless chatter of the multi-coloured rainbow people on TV. They wouldn’t shut up either.