Detox Just To Retox
Title: Detox Just To Retox
Author: ruth a.k.a ruthiestump a.k.a me. :)
Rating: PG
Warning: NONE
Disclaimer: FICTION which means fake.
Summary: 'White. That’s all he sees, day in and day out, white.'
*I'm actually happy with this piece of fan-fiction. I was sure that I'll like it while I was writing it and that's pretty rare for me. I'm happy that I started and finished within an hour which is like lightning speed in my case. I was running on no sleep for more than 24 hours so the fact that it came out good is amazing. ENJOY.*
White. That’s all he sees, day in and day out, white. He always wishes for a spot of color. A splash of red, a dot of blue, hell even a trickle of the world’s ugliest piss yellow would make him happy, he just wanted a change from the boring constant predictable white. He learned that if he looked at the white long enough, little black dots will pop up against the white and then he’s happy. He has color.
It doesn’t help that he’s dressed in that horrible color either. Well, white isn’t a color. He learned that in art class in high school even though he never really paid attention. Black isn’t a color too, go figure. He’s been stuck staring at the white for so long, random memories and facts pop into his head. He doesn’t tell this to the other people in white though, it’s not interesting and it’s useless. He is, however, happy that they let him wear his sneakers. They are white too but not the same white he was surrounded with. It has thin red lines near the tongue along with shark teeth drawn on the left sneaker with a black marker. He’s just happy to have some color.
He’s also happy for his black hair. Before he was stuck staring at white, he’d dye his hair different colors; red, green, black. He used to get it cut whenever he wanted but the guys in white cut it when it’s getting too long. He likes it long, he gets to cover his face with the soft black hair and he won’t see the white anymore.
He tells the people in white that the stupid reoccurring ‘color’ is driving him insane and they look at him like he’s already crazy. They try to help him though. He knows; he’s not that stubborn. They help him by giving him pills. He tried pills before the white. The people in white tell him that pills were part of the reason why he’s stuck looking at the white. They won’t tell him the other reason but he’s confused. Why would they give him pills if that’s why he’s staring at white all the time?
“These are good pills. Not like the ones you took.” The guys in white say.
They give it to him everyday and he hates it because they gave him white pills in a small white cup. He takes it anyway because they make him.
He closes his eyes when he can’t take it anymore. He rocks back and forth to himself in a white corner, his knees up against his chest tucked under his chin. There he can’t see the white anymore, just darkness. Unless he starts to think about it and he always starts to think about it. That’s when he starts to think about the words he used to write and how his friend, his best friend, used to sing them, making them come to life; giving them meaning. “I will never believe in anything again”.
He also thinks about his baby boy, the one that wasn’t really a baby anymore since he was dragged away to the white. His wife, his beautiful wife. He thought about her too; very often. Mostly he just thinks about how the time will come when the guys in white come into his white cushioned room and say “Mr. Pete Wentz, you’re cured. You are no longer insane. You can go back to your family.” But he starts to cry to himself when he does because he knows he’s stuck in that white cell forever.
Author: ruth a.k.a ruthiestump a.k.a me. :)
Rating: PG
Warning: NONE
Disclaimer: FICTION which means fake.
Summary: 'White. That’s all he sees, day in and day out, white.'
*I'm actually happy with this piece of fan-fiction. I was sure that I'll like it while I was writing it and that's pretty rare for me. I'm happy that I started and finished within an hour which is like lightning speed in my case. I was running on no sleep for more than 24 hours so the fact that it came out good is amazing. ENJOY.*
White. That’s all he sees, day in and day out, white. He always wishes for a spot of color. A splash of red, a dot of blue, hell even a trickle of the world’s ugliest piss yellow would make him happy, he just wanted a change from the boring constant predictable white. He learned that if he looked at the white long enough, little black dots will pop up against the white and then he’s happy. He has color.
It doesn’t help that he’s dressed in that horrible color either. Well, white isn’t a color. He learned that in art class in high school even though he never really paid attention. Black isn’t a color too, go figure. He’s been stuck staring at the white for so long, random memories and facts pop into his head. He doesn’t tell this to the other people in white though, it’s not interesting and it’s useless. He is, however, happy that they let him wear his sneakers. They are white too but not the same white he was surrounded with. It has thin red lines near the tongue along with shark teeth drawn on the left sneaker with a black marker. He’s just happy to have some color.
He’s also happy for his black hair. Before he was stuck staring at white, he’d dye his hair different colors; red, green, black. He used to get it cut whenever he wanted but the guys in white cut it when it’s getting too long. He likes it long, he gets to cover his face with the soft black hair and he won’t see the white anymore.
He tells the people in white that the stupid reoccurring ‘color’ is driving him insane and they look at him like he’s already crazy. They try to help him though. He knows; he’s not that stubborn. They help him by giving him pills. He tried pills before the white. The people in white tell him that pills were part of the reason why he’s stuck looking at the white. They won’t tell him the other reason but he’s confused. Why would they give him pills if that’s why he’s staring at white all the time?
“These are good pills. Not like the ones you took.” The guys in white say.
They give it to him everyday and he hates it because they gave him white pills in a small white cup. He takes it anyway because they make him.
He closes his eyes when he can’t take it anymore. He rocks back and forth to himself in a white corner, his knees up against his chest tucked under his chin. There he can’t see the white anymore, just darkness. Unless he starts to think about it and he always starts to think about it. That’s when he starts to think about the words he used to write and how his friend, his best friend, used to sing them, making them come to life; giving them meaning. “I will never believe in anything again”.
He also thinks about his baby boy, the one that wasn’t really a baby anymore since he was dragged away to the white. His wife, his beautiful wife. He thought about her too; very often. Mostly he just thinks about how the time will come when the guys in white come into his white cushioned room and say “Mr. Pete Wentz, you’re cured. You are no longer insane. You can go back to your family.” But he starts to cry to himself when he does because he knows he’s stuck in that white cell forever.