infiniteuality

[infiniteuality]

[infiniteuality]

There's a soft clatter in the vent, like a piece of jewelry being dropped

...

You check it.

There's a rosary in the vent.

The sound of rattling was an oddity in the silence that had always plagued their little prison, a treat compared to the unbearable cacophony of sobs and harsh breaths that came from his unfortunate companion. It had been an eternity since he last heard something come from the vent, the last he remembers was a meal, one too small to even call it that— a morsel, but he gnawed into its raw flesh nonetheless, he was always so hungry, and in a place like this he'd take anything he could get.

So, like a rabit animal, he stood up and frantically reached into the vent, getting on the tips of his toes to be able to reach it. His hand desperately scoured the cold, metal walls of the orifice hoping to find something, anything that would be a brief reprieve from all of this. His calloused palms landed on something— some sort of bracelet? It was light, and awfully small.

. . .A rosary. It was just a rosary. His eyes stared at the familiar cross with disdain, the mere sight of it making his stomach knot up and giving him the urge to retch. Was this some sort of game He was playing on them? A mockery? He couldn't stand the thought.

He was tired of being trampled over, of being backed into a corner like an alley cat at divine threats that bound him to this purgatory. He was like them, the same ichor ran through his veins, and he would show them that he was his equal.

He bowed to no God, nor did he revere His name. The string cut through his skin as he tore the rosary into pieces with a vacant look in his eyes, though he did not flinch at the sight of crimson trickling down his hands. The beads clattered on the floor as the rosary came apart at the seams, and he stuffed the metal cross in the pocket of his uniform, garments sticky with dried up blood, sweat and flesh. 

He'll show them.

The tips of his fingers burned as he let her bleed.

He will.

[infiniteuality]

if he wasn't stuck here with you, would you be happier? it always feels like you see him as dead weight.

❝ Is that even a question?— Obviously.  ❞

[infiniteuality]

would it really mean anything if you got the scissors back?

❝ No. I know it wouldn't really change anything, I mean, nothing really happened in the time I had them. . .But that's not what mattered.

It's hard to find something I could call mine, you know? Those scissors were mine. . .And I felt like I could fight back.

And they were good to de-stress, hahah! ❞

(  Doing it with my bare hands is way more taxing.  )

[infiniteuality]

Do you have any siblings?

❝ . . . No. ❞

[infiniteuality]

do you regret hitting him? do you regret hurting him? killing him? do you regret Any of it?

❝ . . .Why would I? I don't have a reason to. I'm way past that by now. Not like he stays that way, anyway, so it's not like it matters.

He'll come back.

He always does. ❞

[infiniteuality]

is it quiet in there?

❝ Hahah- no, not really. There's always some sort of noise in here.

Keeps me sane, honestly. ❞

[infiniteuality]

are honeyed lies and violence the only things you know how to do?

❝ . . .

What else is there? ❞

[infiniteuality]

do you think that it's Your Fault you lost the scissors? that if you hadn't showed it to them, you might have a sliver of a chance to get out still?

❝ My fault? No, not really. Not only did he open his mouth, but he's the one who took the steps to trick me in the first place. Think about it, if your only ticket out of here told you he'd let you out for a meager exchange, you'd believe him too.

. . .Part of me knows those scissors weren't really going to get us anywhere, but it was mine. Something that belonged to me.

And hurting her was a good way to pass the time. ❞

[infiniteuality]

made you? that's such a specific word. what do you mean by that?

❝ . . . He made us. I don't exactly remember the details, but. . .He gave us shape. A purpose.

He's just never satisfied with imperfections. We just ended up as a means to an end. . . ❞

[infiniteuality]

You crowing about you being alive doesn't necessarily make it true, you know.

❝ . . . 

I. . .I am alive. I am. Maybe not like..Like them, but I. . .

I am alive, just like they are. Just like you are. I'll show you. ❞

( Just   a little     closer .  )

[infiniteuality]

How’s your eyesight?

❝ No good. I can't see very well from afar, and one of the lens from my glasses fell off a while back. . .

But that doesn't really matter when you can't look very far anyway, hah- ❞

[infiniteuality]

would you consider yourself alive? because i really don't think you're living when you're stuck in an elevator forever.

❝  . . .

Y-yeah. Yeah I am, I mean. . .I know I'm not out there, but I. . .

He made me. I have a heart, blood and I breathe the same air as-. . . I'm alive!

(  Ichor tightens around his hollow core, the tension pathetically mimics a heartbeat.  )

(  The absence of the abstract self instead filled by Darkness.  )

I am alive, I am! I'm alive, I'm alive!- ❞

[infiniteuality]

oh, let's not lie about things (you do know what happens to liars, do you not?)

i'm sure his blood has stained your hands too many times to count.

❝  . . .Hah- I don't know what you're trying to do here, if you're tying to sound scary, or. . .

But you don't know what you're talking about. You don't know how it is in here.

Leave us alone. ❞

[infiniteuality]

Hey y’know something happened to your…other self? The better version of you? He’s become more…errr how do I word this? Fake as of late? Yeah, umm he really isn’t himself now. Don’t ask, why I decided to tell you I just wanted to bye.

❝  . . .

. . . Fake, yeah. Yeah. I knew I heard something upstairs-

I don't care. Good riddance, honestly. ❞

( Makes my job way easier. )

[infiniteuality]

where did your tie end up going anyway?

❝ My tie? What ti—. . .Oh! That. You know, wearing a tie all day every day gets a little nauseating after a good while, it was. . .Almost suffocating— so eventually I just. . .Took it off.

It was still here, at one point. . .I don't remember exactly, but I think it just disappeared when we woke up once. I don't— I don't know where it went.  ❞

(  Where did it go? Did she take it? Him? Or. . .  )

[infiniteuality]

how many times have you killed him?

❝ . . . . .Hah—

(  He fidgets, his expression plagued by guilt and uncertainty as sweat trickled down the side of his cheek. His right hand tightens into a fist, digging so harshly into his palm that he could feel a gentle warmth escape the crevices of his fingers. They instinctively searched for something to hold on to, something that used to be theirs.

The smell of blood stuck to the walls like glue, a reminder of what they shared, the only thing they shared; their very essence  )

. . .Killed— who? I have no idea what you're talking about— ❞