I just wrote fic. You probably don't want to read it.
No, really. This comes with trigger warnings for suicide, bullying and implied sexual assault. And I owe about half the premise to lycoris's Ghosts of the Mind, although the 'haunting' here goes rather differently.
(Canon says ghosts don't exist. I'm inclined to agree after writing this one.)
ETA: it's another comment fic. Original thread here.
The rope is almost finished now. Teru isn't hurrying. He can't afford to be hasty, to make mistakes, and he could now. Even in something so simple as this, braiding torn sheets into a rope, he could fail and ruin everything. Enough of him is left to know that, at least.
It's all right, though. He can finish in time.
The voice is still talking, but if he concentrates on his work, over under over under, he can block it out. Until it comes closer, hissing in his ear. "Hey, asshole, don't think you can ignore me."
Seems to come closer. It doesn't have a location, other than what there is of Teru's mind. He wonders vaguely how he can imagine it changing position, but never manages to conjure up more than one of them at once. The four of them were rarely apart in life, but at the moment it's only Yamada, the other three reduced to occasional snickers and muffled jeering. There's probably some reason, but he was a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.
(and now he's nothing)
"Shut up," he tells not-Yamada's-voice. "I'm working."
"I'm working," the voice repeats, in a high-pitched, whining tone. "Never thought you'd be so eager to get here. We're all waiting for you, Teru. Thousands of us. You know what it's like in hell?"
"I don't believe in hell," Teru says, quietly, as he ties off the end of the rope. Finally. The relief is like sunlight pouring into him, burning away darkness and sickness forever. Five minutes left, and he can do this, he can.
"Sure you don't." Yamato follows him - the hallucination follows him - as he stands, to fasten the rope above the bed. "Use your imagination, then. Know what happens to guys like you in prison, Mikami?"
"I'm in prison and it hasn't," Teru snaps, pulling on the rope with his full weight for just long enough to be certain of it holding. There will only be one chance. Ridiculously, he almost feels offended that his delusion would say something so cliched. But then Yamato always had a one-track mind. "And you're too young to be talking like that."
"I'm dead, moron. No one gets any older." Teru doesn't dignify this with a response, goes on checking his noose for weak points. (he has a point. it. not he) Everything's holding together. Four minutes. "Hell's just like that. All alone with all of us. We never get tired and we never get bored and no one gives a shit how much you scream, Mikami. No one cares about you. No one's coming to save you -"
"Shut up!" He climbs on to the bed, and now the noose is round his throat and the floor's below him, all he has to do is step forward. Three minutes. And then someone will come to save him. The guards check on him every half an hour, he's timed them, he knows how precise they are. Almost as clockwork as he used to be.
They should check him more often, but they don't know about this. They think he's afraid to die. Afraid of God, afraid of everyone he's killed, afraid of nothingness. But he doesn't believe in gods, or ghosts, not now. And nothingness...
...it's going to be so wonderful. So quiet.
"Do it, bitch!" Yamato rises to a scream, gleeful, obscene, hysterical, and Teru takes a breath and closes his eyes. "Do it do it do it do it do it do it -"
"I don't believe in you," Teru whispers, and it's true. It really is. Teru doesn't believe in ghosts.
He stretches out his arms. Two minutes. One chance.
Teru doesn't believe in ghosts.
Teru can't afford to believe in ghosts.
Teru can't afford to hesitate.
One minute.
He says a word. And he steps forward off the bed.
And by the time they come to find him, it's already too late.
(Canon says ghosts don't exist. I'm inclined to agree after writing this one.)
ETA: it's another comment fic. Original thread here.
The rope is almost finished now. Teru isn't hurrying. He can't afford to be hasty, to make mistakes, and he could now. Even in something so simple as this, braiding torn sheets into a rope, he could fail and ruin everything. Enough of him is left to know that, at least.
It's all right, though. He can finish in time.
The voice is still talking, but if he concentrates on his work, over under over under, he can block it out. Until it comes closer, hissing in his ear. "Hey, asshole, don't think you can ignore me."
Seems to come closer. It doesn't have a location, other than what there is of Teru's mind. He wonders vaguely how he can imagine it changing position, but never manages to conjure up more than one of them at once. The four of them were rarely apart in life, but at the moment it's only Yamada, the other three reduced to occasional snickers and muffled jeering. There's probably some reason, but he was a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.
(and now he's nothing)
"Shut up," he tells not-Yamada's-voice. "I'm working."
"I'm working," the voice repeats, in a high-pitched, whining tone. "Never thought you'd be so eager to get here. We're all waiting for you, Teru. Thousands of us. You know what it's like in hell?"
"I don't believe in hell," Teru says, quietly, as he ties off the end of the rope. Finally. The relief is like sunlight pouring into him, burning away darkness and sickness forever. Five minutes left, and he can do this, he can.
"Sure you don't." Yamato follows him - the hallucination follows him - as he stands, to fasten the rope above the bed. "Use your imagination, then. Know what happens to guys like you in prison, Mikami?"
"I'm in prison and it hasn't," Teru snaps, pulling on the rope with his full weight for just long enough to be certain of it holding. There will only be one chance. Ridiculously, he almost feels offended that his delusion would say something so cliched. But then Yamato always had a one-track mind. "And you're too young to be talking like that."
"I'm dead, moron. No one gets any older." Teru doesn't dignify this with a response, goes on checking his noose for weak points. (he has a point. it. not he) Everything's holding together. Four minutes. "Hell's just like that. All alone with all of us. We never get tired and we never get bored and no one gives a shit how much you scream, Mikami. No one cares about you. No one's coming to save you -"
"Shut up!" He climbs on to the bed, and now the noose is round his throat and the floor's below him, all he has to do is step forward. Three minutes. And then someone will come to save him. The guards check on him every half an hour, he's timed them, he knows how precise they are. Almost as clockwork as he used to be.
They should check him more often, but they don't know about this. They think he's afraid to die. Afraid of God, afraid of everyone he's killed, afraid of nothingness. But he doesn't believe in gods, or ghosts, not now. And nothingness...
...it's going to be so wonderful. So quiet.
"Do it, bitch!" Yamato rises to a scream, gleeful, obscene, hysterical, and Teru takes a breath and closes his eyes. "Do it do it do it do it do it do it -"
"I don't believe in you," Teru whispers, and it's true. It really is. Teru doesn't believe in ghosts.
He stretches out his arms. Two minutes. One chance.
Teru doesn't believe in ghosts.
Teru can't afford to believe in ghosts.
Teru can't afford to hesitate.
One minute.
He says a word. And he steps forward off the bed.
And by the time they come to find him, it's already too late.