hidden-not-isolated - Tumblr blog

[hidden-not-isolated]

Hidden, Not Isolated [Masterpost]

Chapters...

C1 - C2 - C3

Understand...?

Why are both Magnus and Ellegaard are alive...?

[hidden-not-isolated]

Hidden, Not Isolated [C3]

Just staring.

Just staring.

Just staring.

All

Just 

Staring.

Continuously staring.

Staring.

Staring.

All staring.

Plop.

Feeling something wet land on his head, the instinctive backlash of slightly tucking his head into his shoulders in wince was barely acknowledged beyond the eternal nighttime atmosphere and unnatural trance that dragged him overwhelmed. After all, all he saw in that sprinkled window was the reflection of a very much despised bloke with cowardice; He may as well just try to treat himself with this curious gaze. He didn’t have a choice. Something paranormal was drawing him to the glass. Something. Just a few more moments and then he would tear away. What was the harm in proceeding to glare into his echo regardless? It was shuteye, right? No one would come out here and see him. No one would call the police. Hell, no one even technically knew he was in the area, right? There was nothing wrong with watching the glass and if it could move.

Plop.

Guess another drop knocked against his skull. 

Tap.

And another behind him. 

Pff.

And another against his scarf. 

Drizzle.

Rainshower.

Not even having enough time to stitch together any sort of opinion of the unmerciful droplets from the scattered fabrics that were his thoughts, what was once a soothing pitter-patter soundtrack gradually yet hastily unveiled its true colours, them being rapid droplets which remained to repeat the tapping racket whilst chilled liquid streamed from the threateningly shaded clouds overhead again...and again...and again...and again...and again...

Well, this was just great. 

As he gingerly escorted him and his shivering silhouette back to the nearby alleyway, the fact that the diversion overfalling him had charmed his eyes to tear away from the glass was pushed aside behind the eyes of cowardice alongside a brand-new rainfall brazenly marching his way. The first time the gloomy clouds decided to bombard him with a violent shower, he passed out; Even if a contributing factor were his stress levels, what were the chances he would get sick this time around? Actually, what were the chances he was already sick? It would explain the strange block in his throat and continuous fatigue amidst frequent coughing fits erupting from his scratched throat. No...no, surely he was fine. The universe wouldn't do that to him, right? 

God doesn’t play the dice.

Less dice and more empathy.

As he sat onto the newly wet alleyway floor, the storm was already unmercifully descending onto the town, it being significantly heavier than the first rainshower. If that was possible, I mean. On the flipside, what the hell were the odds? What was he, a black cat, bringing bad luck to everything and everyone in proximity? He brought misfortune to everything and everyone in his vicinity previously anyway. Why did he even deserve friends before, in fact? He didn’t. From anything and everything he had done injustice before, why would he deserve companions out of the rubble? Friendship is a privilege, not a right, no? A right is something you deserve to have, no matter the circumstances. A privilege is something you don’t need to have and can live without. Like friends. Or people in general. He could live without them.

He

could 

live

without

them.

In fact, he lived without them before. He did it before...! Couldn’t he just do that again and call it quits on his mission? He was initially really adamant about going on his quest but…Nothing worse could come from going back into hidden isolation, after all. He would be just fine. He was just fine…

...right?

Finally releasing an itching cough fit that had been rising in the back of his throat, he questioned if you could measure your own sanity without anybody else's input, no? He had, in fact, remained sane throughout the course of years-...It had been years, right? He really never had any way of recognizing what time it was; any sort of clock or watch went haywire in either of the alternative dimensions. Year by year didn't exactly seem to work parallel in the Overworld as it did past the skipping lines of cross-dimensions.

What time was it anyway?

Obviously, it was night, unmistakable by the darkness imprisoning sun, but how many hours had he burned through after he melted himself asleep exactly? When did he fall asleep? Just his luck. He positively didn’t get to see the sun nearly as many times as he would’ve liked. It just always seemed to be blackness around him. In fact, had he been in more nights than days? He couldn't tell. Why couldn’t he just outlive the teasing sun and instinctively doze away from the moon of mystery?

How long would the night last?

To be honest, if this town was just “so nice,” wouldn’t there be any sort of way to measure the passage of time outside? Has that never been a problem for others previously? Literally shivering in his boots, beyond the blurred haze of dim colours, his disoriented mind dragged his feet from the ground and ran away.

He ran away from his problems, I mean.

Yet again.

Evident by him tucking his knees into his chest, he geared up for the storm approaching by protectively enveloping his arms around his legs whilst the cold wind patrolling the night whirled around the atmosphere. If you think about it, even the worst of fiction has a happy ending, so his story would eventually be met with a peaceful conclusion if he just waited long enough. Again, it’s all about perseverance. Just keep waiting, Soren.

Just keep waiting, Soren.

CRASH.

And then,

Soren’s outcry went ignored.

It was submerged with a roar of thunder amidst a bursting screech of sudden illumination ripping apart the celestial sky. His instinctive flinch of violent startlement was discarded and only mimicked past another CRASH warningly breaking through the relatively quiet atmosphere with its crash echoing in and out of his eardrums, pursued by one more BOOM of thunder presently after.

The storm wasn’t going to be easy. 

It’s not much of a secret that people can get used to things without even realizing it. Character development, gradually adapting, taking what you have for granted, all that. He's been through worse; a simple thunderstorm wouldn't be so bad. Besides, it was only...day four? His memory was taken with the wind. Maybe three? Five? Either way, after all he had been through, it’d be pathetic to go down here. Besides, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? He could survive this storm past the hours ticking onwards. And with the hours ticking onwards, a sickeningly familiar pain in his stomach made yet another appearance.

Starvation. 

He was still fine.

If he couldn't find food sooner or later, maybe he could just take his chances with more Chorus Fruit--they never even teleported him that far, what was the big deal the first time? Besides, humans can go, he thinks, two weeks without food...? One…? Regardless, he was fine.

Though time moves on regardless of decisions, one thing that was unique to him was his patience that was turning out to be gradually burning to bits. That was evident by him experimentally brushing his eyes upwards naturally with a heart violently thumping amidst its complaints. It had been several hours, the day’s sun would emerge from the horizon. Of course, other humans would also be out and about but that would be his problem when he got there. Also, the rain and thunder definitely didn’t seem to go anywhere, even after an entire night but at least he could begin his journey to fix his sleeping schedule. Though...the sight of anyone at all would mainly be enough to give him panic attacks. But again: 

That was the problem when he got there.

His eyes expecting to see a glimpse of sunray cracking the overcast sky was met with a nasty surprise, as he was confronted by yet another BOOM instantaneously that flung him almost staggering over himself and fracturing his skull against the stone concrete if it wasn’t for his elbows to save the day.

What the hell?

It was still night? 

CRASH.

Violent flinch.

I mean, he knew the storm was still thundering loud, though he dismissed the crashes in the background, but it had been hours, right? He even made a conscious effort to refrain from looking towards the sky until now, why wouldn’t the universal concept of time just cooperate with one man’s brittle sanity? The clock was ticking on for all he knew to be hours! Sure, he didn’t have any way to verify the position of hands on the clock from his situation on the stormy alleyway but it should’ve been hours, no? 

Was he going insane? 

He dismissed the topic of insanity previously but was it official now?

Was the paranormal the problem or was he the problem?

CRASH. 

Startled, his survival-instinct forced his hands to clasp on the coldly wet pavement and froze in fear for a moment. He learned to maintain a habit of both sound-sensitive and touch-sensitive reflex. Loosening one of his delicate arms, he released his fingers to experimentally wander on auto-pilot to retrieve his scarf’s loose-end from the alleyway floor, for he was beginning to become rather cold with all this wind and rain...or a lot cold with all this wind and rain. He more or less just suffocated himself with his own thoughts for the past...hour? Was he wrong thinking it had been several hours? Or was he just going mental? Regardless, his active daydreaming habit singled him out too many times, this time he aimed to numb himself from reality. It worked. Most of the time anyway. When his cautious fingers did belatedly meet the fabric, Soren automatically recoiled in surprised revulsion, feeling the wetness of the cloth.

His life was far from predictable but was there really an excuse for being this jumpy? It obviously wasn’t a big deal, guess he never really acknowledged his own scarf much. It was just a part of his outfit for so long, he neglected its existence overall. At least not enough to actively take care of it. What’s that phrase that’s like: “when your life’s in danger, you don’t have to be fabulous?” That’s why he rubbed some of the soggy dirt off of his scarf without much hesitation--he never really had a reason to care especially about health, he was used to getting hurt...physically or mentally will stay ambitious. As he wrapped his scarf around his neck, he was warmer. Not warm. But warmer. 

Speaking of which,

What he wouldn’t do for a jacket.

But he brushed that off.

He did so many crazy things, why would he be resentful with a thunderstorm? He did so many crazy things, would a downpour really be his snapping point? He did so many crazy things, it would make him hypersensitive to fail to this. There was no need to be such a baby over some water falling from the clouds. Besides, it would be hypercritical to whine over starvation, homelessness, weakness, and whatever else he may be forgetting past the haze of disorient. After all, didn’t he technically do this to himself? If he had never come here, no lightning storms nor human beings would be any cause for concern. In fact, was he just...waiting for something interesting to happen...? Within this alleyway...? Waiting for courage? Waiting for essentials? Waiting for the Grim Reaper? What was he doing? If someone was to actually find him, they would just call the police and be arrested, no? He wouldn’t even have the energy to futilely try and run away upon sight. If anything, his nocturnal sleeping schedule was working in his favour, seeing as nobody would be out and about, chance of noticing him. Not to mention his Anthropophobia would obviously be pulsating uncontrollably if someone witnessed him passing time with heaving his life to hell. So realistically, if someone was to actually see him, help or otherwise, a panic attack would be all he’d be hit wi

CRASH.

- - -

Morning.

That was all he could make out past the fact that, though he didn’t want to, a brand-new day emerged from his rotten karma. Once his eyes instinctively cracked open, they were immediately bombarded with exhaustion beyond the actuality that he had woken from an insomniac slumber. Again. 

Also…

It was morning, right? 

Then why did the shading of morning seem darker than normal? And why did rather annoying beats of wet seem to just plunge from the sky again and again? 

Right. 

It was raining.

His thoughts in his mind were hazed. They were blurred. 

So much so, then and there, he couldn’t tell the difference between the clouded, light-headed lines of drizzle and downpour.

But it might as well be.

. . .

Splitting his eyelids apart, an orangish hue coated the area amidst overhead dark shadows he knew to be clouds past his fatigue. 

Day.

. . .

He

Couldn’t

Tell.

It

Was

Noon,

Right?

. . .

Sunset.

Probably.

. . .

Night.

Rain.

It was night.

And it was raining.

Not drizzling.

Straight up pouring.

He knew that.

He could know that.

Finally.

When he was finally able to keep his eyelids open for more than something of thirty seconds, the sun was already beginning to set upon the horizon, leaving him to wonder when he had fallen asleep...all times. He could hazily recollect making a deliberate decision to take a nap to try to shake off his heavy eyelids the first time around but the others? He didn’t mean to. Worth noting though, I’m talking, within the last two seconds of consciousness the first time around. Maybe that was him being impulsive initially. Maybe that was him looking out for himself initially. Besides, what harm could a short nap do? This. But in the morning, that was all he thought he needed. Sure, he didn’t have any kind of alarm clock obviously, but he thought he could’ve trusted himself. 

He couldn’t.

This wasn’t a nap. 

He wanted to fix his sleeping schedule since the darkness had a habit of scaring him but he was asleep for all he knew to be hours--that was called being straight up nocturnal. Not to mention the confusion of how many times exactly he fell asleep throughout the day. And woke up. That was the most confusing part. He woke up at the times of...morning and...day...? Sunset and noon…? He was really just guessing. He was really just naming stages of the day. Yeah, that was really what he was doing. He could easily be wrong. It was pointless. Like his presence. Since he had no sure-fire way of recognizing his awakenings, he should really just call it quits on understanding. He would probably just strain himself trying to remember anyway. 

And no,

He didn’t find any food that day either.

CRASH.

Even if the thunder was out of sight and he didn’t want to see something that would scare him half to death anyway, the feeling of it hitting somewhere behind him, him not being able to tell how close exactly the flash was to striking him, made it enough to make him violently flinch amidst immediate, uncontrollable trembling.

CRASH.

You know it’s bad when someone who hadn’t even been looking towards the sky knows it was bigger than that first bolt. Scarier than the first bolt. 

They say fear is one of the strongest emotions. They say fear can control someone. They say both. Who is “they” and what exactly are the other emotions they’re comparing it to? No idea. But maybe he just couldn’t remember. Fatigue can do that to you...not that he would recall it past the blur. Regardless, that’s why the sky just somehow seemed to use some kind of fear-mongering tactic to get Soren to worriedly stare at the threateningly pessimistic atmosphere, waiting for an invitation from hope whilst his only source of warmth remained to be his scarf...but mainly his forehead.

CRASH.

Was it just him or was the lightning striking more frequently tonight? And was the falling rain heavier tonight? Again, he really couldn’t tell. Was the first storm several nights ago just some kind of warm-up? Was it a warning he should’ve heeded? Probably. Just another thing he was doing wrong. He did everything wrong. Even if it was basic. On the second day, he couldn’t breathe. On the third day, he didn’t know where he was. On the fourth day, he was starving. On the fifth day, a thunderstorm made him pass out from fear. What was going to go wrong this day? His realization that if it wasn’t for him and his idiotic scheme of a plan, he wouldn’t be here, getting drenched in a cloudburst? He wouldn’t be here, wanted? But that didn’t even matter, even if he wasn’t wanted, he couldn’t talk to anyone to save his life. He was a failure. A coward. A liar. Whatever else he might be forgetting. Hell, if he knew what was in store for him years ago, he’d really just rather be born as something of a donkey, living out such uneventfully peaceful days. I mean, you know your life’s gone relatively downhill when you consider the possibility that a mule probably has a better life than you. Maybe he should just retreat to the End after all. Nothing worse could come from withdrawal; he was silently dying and nobody would help him...not that he’d want anyone’s help. He had no clue who he was supposed to be, considering he was replaced. He made so much effort to be something of a “great architect” and it had all been turned to dust with a new generation. Kind of similar to how he did so much to get hither but was he really going to call it quits now? Besides, he was still way too vulnerably weak to traverse the distance to the nearest End Portal. So, all in all, what alternative option did he have? He was still stranded in an alleyway with pointless emotions amidst pointless thoughts.

“Uh...is anybody there?”

His presence was pointless.

“Kill ya’ to say something?”

His existence was pointless.

“Hello~o~o?”

He was pointless.

“Woah!”

And then,

His heart stopped.

The words only barely slipped from his mouth.

“Magnus…?”

[hidden-not-isolated]

Hidden, Not Isolated [C2]

On the following day, hell struck. 

On the following day, it rained.

- - -

Plop.

Snapping back to consciousness, his awakening supported alongside a startled twitch whilst his briefly bewildered eyes had rapidly flickered a few times in surprise as he took a moment to fear-filled-ly realize the heavy drop that had splattered upon contact with his forehead, was a droplet of water, evident to the feeling that he got when it had literally plummeted upon him and a swift touch of the palm which instinctively turned into a wipe.

After taking a quick glimpse at his now somewhat wet hand, his head steadily began to promptly turn upwards and towards the sky, curious to see if it was anything else than what he inwardly knew it was or was a different cause that would significantly relieve his mind, one-hundred-and-ten-percent. After all, even if it was unlikely, had it be anything of a recently fractured pipe or other, he would be able to swiftly shift two feet to the left and get him and his mind back to sleep.

Sleep.

The water woke him.

The water woke him.

The water woke him from an incredibly peaceful illusion of where he wasn’t even aware that he would ultimately be unmercifully dragged back to the reality of where he was stunk in the same spot, him not even being able to complete his self-mission with the astonishingly high risk of someone spotting him and calling the police, the police to take him to a jail where all of his freedom would be restricted and stripped from him significantly. Or, you know, just to die.

Plop.

His head instinctively snapped back to the alleyway.

Slow pitter-patter. 

Keeping his head down, right eye shut, he glanced upwards slightly with his free vision, a fearful expression in tow.

Just constant pitter-patter.

His mind was so petrified of the whirlwind of the day he just had at that point, that he denied facts, “I’ll be fine...” 

I mean, facts were always the things that he had once lent towards, shakily muttering that to no one but the nighttime’s atmosphere. His eyes being closed, him shying his eyes with his uncontrollably quivering hands like a child cowarding in their closet, did nothing physically for him. However, mentally is where there’s something to be said. Maybe, just maybe, if he could stay in this one position for however long it takes, solutions would just come to him without him doing a thing himself...yes, of course!

There was hope! Surely! Everything has a happy ending! Everyone gets a second chance! Everything will be okay! Yes, and now his happy ending is even closer! And even closer! And yet again! It’s all about patience, perseverance! Nothing can last forever! In good ways too! Everything gets resolved at one point or another! Any moment now! Of course! 

Any moment now!

Any moment now!

Any moment now!

Not that he was smiling or anything.

Internally, he could hear his subconscious informing him in his mind of things he already knew, though he continuously refused to accept the facts at each and every opportunity possible. Honestly, his subconscious wasn’t at fault though. It was the voice of reason, not him. It wasn’t scolding him for running away from his problems. It wasn’t telling him unnecessarily negative things. It was just calmly and casually mentioning him of his responsibilities and he was drastically overreacting. He knew that. Shut up, shut up, shut up...

What are you doing...?

You can’t just stay here forever.

Everybody needs food and water sometime.

It hasn’t even been as much as a day yet.

If this is how every day is going to go, what would be of point of where you just give up?

Can you truly back to that kind of isolation once again?

Then again, what choice do you have?

If someone spots you, you’re gone.

What are you going to do?

Dragging the heavy weight that was his legs upwards, he painstakingly buried his expression in his knees, gathering himself up and into a trembling sphere to run away from his problems in a sense that he wanted to just evade of the subject of this horrid reality itself for a while, even if he knew that it wasn’t going to last forever and would plausibly be difficult to get a good-night’s-sleep with the hopeless rain beating. 

Forcing himself to overlook that typical ounce of common-sense, his eyelids developed heavier and heavier once again, encouraging him to disregard the frigid liquid repeatedly plunging onto his being again and again as he gradually began to weaken into an unconscious status once again.

CRASH.

The somewhat outcry that had immediately ejected from his mouth instinctively was nothing in comparison to the roaring crack of thunder overhead, accompanied amidst a blinding outburst of lightning in the atmosphere. He had uncontrollably flinched violently in backlash to the sound in the background, obviously awakening before he hesitantly twisted his head upwards, finding himself gawking at the immeasurable sky above. The pitch-black sky just seemed to be so vast and endless all-so-suddenly; he could barely remember the normally azure sky anymore; the normally azure sky that illuminated the town so he could easily locate every possible ambush spot. After all, any central would constantly be freely roaming with criminals inhabiting the enigmatic shadows of which nobody would think to look for the sinner evading deserved consequence.

I mean,

When you phrase it like that,

It sounds kind of like Soren.

But I’m not sure he’s a big fan of irony. 

CRASH.

His frightened outcry echoed in the atmosphere whilst his eyes widened in alert as another rupture of electricity rippled across the sky nothing more than moments later following the initial explosion. His heart suddenly hammering back and forth within his already frightened chest, his scared breaths steadily moulded into rapid heaves of hyperventilation. Ironically, even though he was making a conscious effort to breathe, the more he gasped for oxygen, the fleeter puffs he could inhale, the more his chest tightened, the most tortuously uncomfortable it was to breathe.

He couldn’t catch his breath.

His hypertension, stress, tiredness, and difficulty breathing eventually forced his eyesight to increasingly turn into a continually foggy blur that strongly intensified every now and then. Hell, he barely could be able to make out the thick silhouette of his own hand briefly waving in front of him as his eyes grew significantly heavier. He wasn’t only unable to locate him. He wasn’t only unable to talk to people. He wasn’t only unable to stay positive. He wasn’t only unable to persist through the storm.

He wasn’t able to take second-nature ticks to survive.

CRASH.

Again,

His existence was useless.

His heart frantically thumping faster than a cheetah, his sensitive skin being overlapped with panicking stress, the frequent roaring blots of thunder being replaced with an ear-piercing ring whilst his chest screeched, achingly powerless to inhale without exhaling the air instantaneously in the same half-second to the point of not being able to breathe at all, everything in his view extremely fuzzy, reality a haze beyond identification, 

Everything went silent.

- - - 

Heavy breathing.

Piercing ring.

Blur.

Heavy breathing.

Piercing ring.

Blur.

Heavy breathing.

Piercing ring.

Blur.

- - -

Where...am...I...?

Not only did he wonder about the glooming shadows crowding down on him, but was there an anvil on his chest and eyelids or something? His weak pants of air could only barely squeeze past his lips, whiffs fortunately smoothly gliding through his throat as his huffing sent into the breezing environment, environment anciently narrow. The invisible force on his eyelids may be a contributing factor to the continuous smears that his common-sense confirmed to be reality past the tone of broken breeze streaming throughout the proximity and physical coating of vast coldness.

Alleyway.

Right.

Wanted.

Hide.

Rain.

All that.

Awakening out of a crumpled mess, the cloudy dust trapping him forced his eyes to warningly bolt together to suddenly cough aloud amidst his mind, his mind filled with dismay of his abrupt breakdown, his chest vigorously tightening with each and every dry wheeze that had tumbled out from his throat until he was left with nothing but the damp, alley floor as he dragged himself upwards, sitting so dumbfoundedly.

When had he fallen asleep again?

Not only that, but if he had only just woken up, why was he so exhausted? Was he exhausted in his thoughts? Was that it? That would make sense. He couldn’t step a foot out of the shadows without the risk of someone beckoning the police on him, him knowing that he wouldn’t be able to fend himself if his life depended on it. Which it did. After all, if the authorities succeeded to find him, who’s to say that they would just let him off easier merely because he was apparently apologetic for deceiving the entire world and cheating the laws of physics, literally running away from consequence instead of owning up? What was he going to tell the police if he was ultimately discovered anyway?

I’m sincerely sorry. I’m aware I’ve consciously committed appalling sins but I’m also sincerely wanting not to pay the consequence, so may you be so kind as to help me find refuge?

No surprise there; that sounded ridiculous.

Same kind of ridiculous that was what sent his mind plunging down a spawl staircase, passing out along the way.

Not being sure what to do with his useless mind and useless thoughts, he hopelessly settled his hands upon the dimly lit ground, his bones being dangerously vulnerable in comparison to an average’s health; it may having something to do with the fact that he and his well-being hadn’t had anything of a day of where he could just go about its routine without a worry in the world for quite a while.

But he ignored that.

He’s seen worse, right?

Forcefully pressing his arms against the stone, he used his palms to prompt his body upwards whilst he realized just how unforgivingly cold the alleyway was yet again, even if the atmosphere presented now was an azure hue amidst the warmth that just seemed to purposely evade him as he slowly tore his numbly aching figure up and into an uncontrollably loose standing status.

Everything spinning.

His dizzy standstill propelled his head in circles, taunting to stumble face-first into the stone pavement, probably breaking his nose. Beyond the haze that was his fatigue, he was conscious enough to know that his reaction-times weren’t nearly sharp as they used to be. And when they used to be, he could defend himself. Hell, his strength to balance was tested just by using the cold wall behind himself to lean his weight against. Or lack-there-of, I mean. As his eyes forced themselves to cross, his lungs catching its breath as if it had run a marathon, Soren slipped entirely disoriented within his own thoughts. Again.

Lack of refuge.

Lack of hope.

Lack of courage.

Lack of understanding.

Lack of companions.

Lack of direction.

Lack of safety.

Lack of foresight,

Lack of survival-instinct.

Lack of strength.

Lack of health.

Well, things were just going phenomenal, weren't they?

“Where are they?”

Jumping out of his skin, the gasp that had ejected from his mouth had been somewhat muffled with the instinctive teeth-grit and hands instantaneously overlaying his mouth tightly whilst he simultaneously dropped himself from against the wall and into a sitting position on the alleyway floor, eyes showing sympathy for himself.

“They said their house was near the gate; let’s head there.”

Instinctively holding his breath, he didn’t even realize that he had checked off dizziness from his list of priorities, daze itself withering away from him.

“Okay...”

He never even truly thought about that.

He was wanted.

People were pursuing him.

People were pursuing him.

An internal screech echoes within his mind.

Sincerely, this was ironic. Mentally, his voice of reason always reminded him that half of his anxieties were irrational and with the natural: “I’m the protagonist, what bad could truly happen to me?” mindset, this knowledge was actively rattling his subconscious to the core amidst conversations overheard to and fro, loudly fusing out of tune. Now that he had a very, very valid reason to exclusively seek refuge out of silhouettes, he was assuredly at a loss. Great. It’s not like the very person he was seeking for would just happen to candidly stroll by the alleyway, would he? His luck was just far to low for that.

Once again,

He was truly at a loss.

- - -

Accidentally withdrawing from an insomniac slumber, his eyelids daringly parted ways amidst consciously heaving his own adagio, broken breaths of heavily deep puffing which evaporated as soon as they left his mouth, rising towards the darkly clouded atmosphere as he figuratively felt the anvil on his chest make its second appearance on the fourth day alone. The cold wheezes gradually chilled the alleyway insignificantly whilst his dazed body embraced strangely tranquil feeling, rendering him unusually paralyzed to movements, the beading feeling of his senses abnormally numb.

He couldn’t move.

The apathetic feeling that was determined to immobilize him on the fourth day shuddered his soul to the core while his figure persisted to welcome a moveless status; A status moveless to the point of being senseless, unable to feel any positive feeling. That is, including a piercingly intense agony within his stomach, it intensifying to and fro, a demand greater than the desire to find refuge--an apparent command for food.

He was starving.

Stitching together enough self-preservation to try to thoroughly investigate the proximity, he strained to costively drag himself from his loose posture on the damp ground and into a limp sitting position, drastically exhausting whatever fragments that were left of his strength just by tearing his aching being from the pavement. His head was left to aimlessly hang from his scratchy neck and his newly fainted eyes to uselessly gaze at the concrete for a few moments before his lungs suddenly busted out into a coughing fit with little to no warning, the heavy rasp growing in his throat temporality erupting in escape beyond his lips, chest once again stiffening and slackening on and off with every bare wheeze, mind stuffed with plead to quit hacking his precious breath away.

. . .

His chest impermanently released of any built-up, itching discomfort, his confidence was somewhat restored by rationalizing that at least some of his tickling nausea had to be relieved, right? Dust violently expelled from his lungs, he hesitantly took that opportunity to plant his hands on the ground, not even paying any mind to the stiffly brisk floor beyond the powerful demand for food. As he tentatively used his sensitively vulnerable arms to hoist himself upward, he frantically ripped through the relatively tranquil atmosphere the second he settled his feet on the ground, seeing as he instantaneously stumbled over his own balance amongst a flinch, forcing his right shoulder to vigorously smash against the alleyway wall, him letting out an automatic, relatively loud outcry on impact, the side of his head cracking into the aforementioned building seconds after, the sudden movement abrupt to the point of being stunned even after instinctively securing his position with a hand weakly pressed upon the wall and yet another coughing frenzy simultaneously.

So standing was a no-go.

Take it that what had happened was that he hadn’t realized that his legs were frail to the point of being worthless until he had tripped over his absence of weight.

So he was useless.

His legs taunting to allow him to drop to the ground and him still being hungry, he quickly skimmed to the floor in defeatist, back to the wall.

So he was staving.

Him with an absence of an actual objective other than generally “find food,” he pointlessly studied the science of nothing what-so-ever besides catching his breath whilst gawking at the drizzly alleyway floor in front of him for a minute as his arms remained tightly grasped around his legs protectively, refusing to accept the fact that he couldn’t just shield himself from the shadows caving-in on him that effortlessly. Him himself trembling with both cold and disquietude, a shiver raced through his spine within the presence of the chilled nighttime air ensnaring him in its clouds of eclipsed enigma; Somehow, the luna’s duskiness really just felt rather worse than the other couple of nighttimes somehow. Just his luck. Would anything go his way? Perhaps only so many things go your way in life and perhaps he had previously swallowed up all of his. As for disquietude, he literally had nothing on him to guard himself against potential menaces with...

...right?

Fatigued sword...

Habits of the Endermen...

Walking Among the Endermen...

Compass...

Pickaxe...

A Man Forever Voyaging...

Torch...

Chorus Fruit...

Chorus Fruit?

They’re fruit...

They’re edible...!

He didn’t even remember he had those...!

I mean, not exactly much of a meal but at least a slice of his satisfaction and hunger would be restored from consuming a few of these berries, worst-case-scenario for him to call it a day there, right?

As he sank his teeth into the purple food, he couldn’t even swallow before he suddenly got a strange feeling briefly as if something bad was about to happen amidst a fuzzy sensation that instantaneously glazed past all of his body, momentarily unnerving his vanes to his blood along a gasp cut short by a dizzying event. Even now, him laying on freezing concrete amongst streams of brisk breeze coating over his character, he could barely understand what the smeared, dull colours of existence were, it also being accompanied by a loud, eerie, echoing soundtrack that was sickeningly familiar.

How’d he get out of the alleyway again?

Intense fatigue and hunger taking control of him, he and his attention were uncontrollably, wearily pinned onto the freezing pavement, bordering the edge of breaking out into anew coughing tantrum. The effect of the harsh nighttime atmosphere and moon gradually chilling everything that came in its path to a core made what would normally be clean breaths turn into frigid heaves. Him powerless to stand up for a moment, he took this opportunity to crestfallenly recall that any kind of Chorus Fruit were naturally counterproductive, him not being strong enough to continuously drag himself upwards and to the nearest, cryptic corridor again...and again...and again...

There goes that plan.

Slowly tearing himself upright, he was forced to instinctively groan with amidst a subconscious desire to just randomly teleport back to an alleyway in his vulnerability, his body complaining simultaneously with every significant movement. Then again, the idea of violently teleporting in any kind of similar manner again violated his soul to retaliate even with as much as the thought. His reduction of energy to balance was evidently proven once he used to his advantage a damp window of the building that was fortunately in his precise proximity to support his incompetent figure. He was restrained to roughly settle his right arm on the pane within the fact that his balance was loose to the point of nearly staggering to the ground once again in a blind stumble, evident alongside the wobbling. While his eyes quickly glanced past the reflecting glass, the distinct shading seized the windowpane to glaze a brief hue of light across its obvious shine and slightly wet drizzle inside the mysterious dusk. Though him to pay little to no mind to the environment and more to survival-instinct, the illumination haphazardly snatched his eyes’ attention to the mirror in uneasy interest, not even noticing himself loosely planting his palms on the windowsill to get a better vision at his reflection, him taking a curious gaze, lost in his own lime-green eyes that were intensely

staring

right

back

at

him.

[hidden-not-isolated]

Hidden, Not Isolated [C1]

He was shaking.

He was shaking.

He was shaking.

But he was relieved.

He had gotten to his desired location. 

After everything.

He’ll throw a party as he checks that off the list. 

Done, taken care of. 

All wrapped up and good to go.

…Now what? 

Sure, the idea of taking his complicated, daunting mission one-step-at-a-time certainly worked, however...for starters, he definitely couldn’t handle the idea of being anywhere near any other people; not to mention the strangers. The strangers. The strangers strolling around the proximity, doing whatever they want, you unbeknownst to their shenanigans that they do in the shadows. For all you know, one could be plotting to kill you next Sunday afternoon. One could be a kidnapper in plain sight, lacerating its victims. One could be scheming to expose your biggest secret to the entire world, directly or otherwise. Or to put it more simply, 

A town. 

Filled with murderers.

Which was where he was. 

Thoughts haphazardly crammed and rushed to his head as he forced the water threatening to raise behind his eyes to back off as his breathing firmly hastened and he glanced the area over, left and right, still contemplating of what may happen upon someone spotting him even if it was random...even if it was agonizing...even if it was the worst... even if it was the best...

The best.

As he pinched an eye shut, he grazed away the nearly cast tear with his palm whilst refocusing, and maybe distracting, himself boiled to the front of his mind instead of physically hiding from the insult-ready folk trapping him,

Find him. 

But if he was honest with himself and his Anthropophobia, his existence was still useless. How was he supposed get back on his feet if he had been unknowingly stapled to the ground in the first place? Guess he just didn’t know that until now. After all, he had no traces, no courage, no nothing. Essentially, instead of being something of millions of miles away from his objective, he was lost in his own, personal mind and apprehension. Literally no one could help him with this absurd disorder. He would have to deal with his pattern of heavy thought by himself. That’s just honestly cruel, isn’t it? After all, he didn’t even know who he was supposed to be anymore, would anything go his way? Couldn’t the universe just, you know, be considerate? Could it really not spare him even the smallest shred of luck? Surely it owes him, right? Out of everything he had gone through, wouldn’t it only be fair? Emerging from the whole “god doesn’t play the dice” stuff, guess not. In fact, with no sighting of his goal even now, perhaps he should’ve looked somewhere else, less filled with people. Perhaps he should've never come in the first place. Perhaps this was all an elaborate mistake. But there he was. About to die. He did that to himself. Hooray. Such advanced thinking. Clever. Really clever. See, it didn’t matter where he consciously made his way to, physically. After all, he had literally been hunting for this town for...a while...? So it wasn’t a matter of that. What else could it be? I mean, he could be anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t change the fact that he was having something of a panic attack.

His existence was fucking useless.

His frantic, terrified heaves of hyperventilation beginning to rapidly stutter once again, his neck instinctively tucks inwards, right hand tightly squeezing his left with a painfully tight grip uncontrollably in a nervous habit as his eyes remained wide and hysterically bouncing to the left and right, anticipating someone to maniacally sprint up to him with a melee weapon of sorts. The positions of his hands were over his mouth alongside the cloth that he automatically buried his lips with, trying to make sure the soft fabric didn’t slip--it made him feel a bit more safe. To be specific, it made him feel as if he was at his home...if he had a home, that is. He could only guess. That said, he still could barely muffle even the thinnest of heaves into the atmosphere. He couldn’t even ask somebody to call an ambience if he needed one, that’s how useless he was. Amazing. He had just gotten there and of course, he was continuously choking on his own worthless breath matching his personality over and over again. The sinister reality encircling him, he couldn’t imagine anything bad not happening to him and as if he could simply shut out the actuality ambushing him this easily, he locked his eyes shut as his hands and weave slipped to his chest whist the universe itself whirled in broad circles around him. He couldn’t focus. He needed to focus. He couldn’t relax. He needed to relax. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe. 

B r e a t h e.

Taking several, large, expansive breaths, he thoroughly aired out his lungs as he forcefully commanded his throat. His lungs despairingly exhausted themselves panting all of the microscopic particles of dust elsewhere before he ultimately exhaled one final time, the desire to keep his eyes clasped amplifying by far the most that he had craved yet as exactly two total tears slipped from his eyes, one each, while he tucked his chin to the right side of his chest, shying his face away, effectively pinching the skin of his left hand.

. . . 

Swiftly, his hands sank into a posture near to his lower chest whilst he vigorously trembled uncontrollably, head slightly, unenthusiastically shifting towards the front of him and eyes tearing towards the town. His timid manner as he slipped his attention was visibly noticeable. He looked as if he just wanted to hide behind his hair and shun from any sorts of murderer-likely people who were exchanging discussions about how stupid he looked with one another as they sauntered beyond the proximities, snickering about how randomly sensitive and crybaby-like a grown man was acting for no apparent reason.

That said, though he was completely aware that peeping was daring, he was nearly swooped into a calmed status for a few moments, for exactly three parrots sang their chirps as they flew past his line of sight, the birds honestly startling him as they shuttled, him to instinctively adjust his attention and eyes to keep a tab on the flyings. 

As he traced the flutterings after they resting-ly perched onto a beam, he slowly twisted his neck left and right, not rushing to cautiously take in all of the scene that dauntingly made him feel oh-so-small in its surrounding-like style. That is, until he rabidly blinked a few times in wonderment as he took most notice to the vertical, coloured beams that fiercely shone directly into the atmosphere. They weren’t exactly bright enough to make one go blind even if they were to gaze for a prolonged amount of time but definitely enough to be seen from a mile away. And clearly striking. He found himself dumbfoundedly staring at the beams of colour, even after he instinctively roamed towards the lights in his glaze. Definitely something he hadn’t seen in years. The monument supporting the streaks of hue also persisted so causally, as well. Everything did. Everyone did.

The streets of this town square were far from being bustling or swarming with people this sunny day. They weren’t many folks out and about. So that was very good. Not a lot of people out and striving to kidnap him, throwing him into the basement that would also be the worst day of his day...which was a possibility to happen. So this was much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. He was very lucky. But then again, if he was very lucky...forget it. Why don’t we try to be grateful? Not much else has worked for this man, anyways. 

“I’ve always loved these beacons!” He violently flinched in his recently pacified status as a bloke abruptly ran around the structure, arms out immaturely. That’s what urged his self-preservation to immediately shoot his head towards the ground and began actively vibrating once again, cradling himself, praying that the individual would just go elsewhere if they didn’t pay much attention to them.

“Yeah, that’s why they call it ‘Beacontown,” He heard a woman return followed by barks of a canine, he believed. He also believed that a hastening shiver quickly jetted down his spine upon overhearing that another person was too close to him and, to top it all off, a dog that probably had razor-sharp teeth, ready to impound blood-cut stitches into his arm with a single snack out of his sensitive skin. 

No. 

Get away from me.

The fact that someone was in the proximity of him was all it took for him to frantically speed-walk to a distance, away from the characters, visibly quivering at the thought of being that girl’s or man’s next victim. Or, in fact, anyone who saw him. Just stay at least fifty-five-feet away from him and you should be fine. Just go away. But I guess there’s always a bright side. At least he knew what the town was called now.

“Beacontown.”

That made sense.

The beacons definitely seemed to be important.

By second-nature, he allowed his legs to go on autopilot as his mind was occupied with properly, thoroughly brushing his eyes around the area, scanning the neighbourhood with the scent of sweet spraying the diversified structures ever since he had shakingly taken a look around the proximity accompanied by his uncontrollable rabid breathing, seeking to discover and identify any potential ambush spots, yearning to keep himself guarded of the possible threats.

As he glimpsed left and right of the town, he just couldn’t disregard all of the monuments standing so plainly. Friendly. Ranging from what appeared to be a heartfelt memorial to someone to some sort of tiki-like-statue, this town’s square was unmistakably an interesting area. In as much of a good way as in was bad. Unsure of how else to describe it, he gawked wide-eyed at the structures scattered about the vicinities, various textures and materials utilized to build them, evident to the gentle stroke. It obviously took quite a while to create, but it seemed to be worth it, it contributing to the nonviolent atmosphere. 

His eyes finally separating from the right-line of buildings, his focus ultimately took a notice and attached to a thin piece of paper taped crudely to the side of a building upcoming, of which he could roughly make out the title of the paper to be from afar, however, he wasn’t entirely sure. Him being curious to thoroughly investigate and explore every portion of this town without running into any person, he promptly began to pick up the pace with his stride to the paper.

. . . 

Oh...

What have I done?

Yes, of course. Why didn’t he see that coming? It made sense...mostly. There were a few plot holes but knowing his luck, they’re probably be covered up later. If he got to later. Regardless, he couldn’t ask questions. He did this to himself. He had no excuses. It was a matter of time anyways.

He barely even noticed himself instinctively unsticking the sheet from the tac and off of the building before he stood firmly, still holding the newly-discovered filer that had caught his eye once again for a briefer moment. As he sat himself onto the damp floor of the alleyway, he noticed that his puffs of breath had become foggily visible a second prior to him holding the sheet upwards to thoroughly examine the paper as he reflected on his actions. He couldn’t complain, of course; he just couldn’t believe it.

It was him, Soren.

On a wanted poster.