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lilac-gold · 1 year

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Flatline

AI-less Whumptober: Day 7 Flatline | Restrained CPR @ailesswhumptober

Fandom: OMORI Rating: Teen Word Count: 3057 Summary: Basil hears his grandmother die. The sound of her flatlining sticks with him for hours afterwards. AO3 LINK

Basil had never liked hospitals. He was familiar with them, having been a rather sickly child earlier on in life, but dreaded visiting them all the same. They were too… Sterile. Too bare. Too closed-off. They smelled like antiseptic and illness, a unique, juxtaposing scent that made Basil’s nose scrunch up. Almost every plant within the buildings was fake, the only sunlight came through half-open windows, and Basil hated being inside of them.

Death lingered in the air, the memories of countless ill patients haunting those white halls. The thought of how many people passed away inside of buildings like these made Basil shudder as he waited in the intensive care unit. Each second that ticked by made him feel more and more anxious, and he waited with increasing agitation.

He stared intently at his grandma’s face. She looked so frail like this, tiny and swaddled up, a needle in her arm and an oxygen mask on her face. He hadn’t expected her to get this much worse, especially not in such a short space of time. Everything after Polly called 911 was a blur, really, then hours of waiting. The steady beeping beside the bed provided a bit of background noise, some reassurance that his grandma was still alive and kicking. Well. Alive and lying down.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Basil tapped his foot against the floor to the rhythm of it, a steady thud. After a while, he got bored of doing so, instead looking around at the room he’d been in for the past few hours. There were fake plants around, plastic and brightly coloured. Basil frowned a little looking at them.

Beep. Beep. Beep. His grandma was a gardener, much like himself. They often planted flowers together– that is, they used to before she became mostly confined to her bed. Polly tried to help out with Basil’s plants, but her hands were too soft, and her aversion to dirt too strong, and she hadn’t the faintest clue what to do. Not like his grandma, kind and wise, helpful and happy to teach Basil anything he wanted to learn.

Beep. Beep. Beep. She was strong, his grandma, even if she didn’t look it just then. Her hands bore calluses, and her face, weathered with age, had deep lines embedded into it from years of smiling. Her hair was wispy and white, but Basil remembered how she used to scrape it back into a bun behind her head to keep it out of her way.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Basil sighed, resting his chin on his hands. So much had happened in the past couple of days, all in such quick succession. He’d seen Sunny again. He lost the photo album, getting it back later on and wincing at his new bruises. He nearly drowned after Aubrey pushed him into the lake– it hurt, knowing how much she hated him now. She’d been his first friend. Now, his grandma was in hospital, Basil shifting uncomfortably in a hard chair by her side.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Everything was going to be okay. He repeated his mantra over and over again in his head, a quick pace that didn’t leave much room for any other thoughts, least of all of Sunny. Basil hadn’t seen him in years. He didn’t sleep much the night Sunny came out of his house, despite how exhausted he was from his dip in the lake. Dark figures haunted him, accusatory eyes glared from all around, and guilt made his stomach spin and twist unpleasantly. Basil hated guilt. It was an awful feeling. It was constant.

Beep. Beep. Usually, when his mind was bugging him, Basil tried to distract himself, but there was nothing in the hospital room to distract himself with. Usually, his brain told him he should have spent more time with his friends while he still could. It blamed him for being just a minute too late, for dangling Mari’s corpse from the tree in her backyard, just as it should. Now, it whispered that he’d given up on his grandma too soon, that she was going to die and he wouldn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to her.

Beep… Mari’s death had been a bit of a wake-up call for Basil. It was a shock, something that pestered him relentlessly, his own actions making the memories of that day even worse. It had been what forced his eyes open, wrenching away his innocence and shoving it in his face that everyone died someday. His friends were all going to die. His grandma was going to die. He was going to die. It was inevitable, and scary, and for all he knew, everything afterwards just vanished. Either that, or they would be judged, and Basil would have to face an eternity of torment. Then again, he wasn’t sure what could be worse than his perpetual self-loathing and the feeling of rotting from the inside.

Beep… When different branches or leaves on a plant died, it was Basil’s job to clip them away. He could feel himself withering more and more by the day, and wondered when he’d be able to muster up the courage to pick up a rope once more. That would be a fitting punishment for all that he had done. Basil took a shaky breath. Nobody’d died yet, not after Mari. For years, he thought Sunny might have. For a quarter of that time, Hero might as well have been dead. The old Aubrey died years ago. Kel hadn’t. Kel was like him. They were both decaying slowly, the spread something they couldn’t stop if they tried. Basil stopped fighting it a long time ago.

Beep… He’d been alone for so long. His friends all left, his grandma got ill, and Polly was nice but Basil knew she only stuck around because she had to. She felt bad for them, and was getting paid. She wasn’t a friend, but rather a caretaker. Basil appreciated it, really, but knowing that she put so much effort into trying to keep him alive only made him feel worse about the unstoppable eventuality he knew was coming soon. Basil was rotten, after all. He missed being young. Being happy.

A terrifying, high-pitched screech sounded out behind him, and Basil flinched harshly. Wild eyes landed on the heart monitor, and Basil felt something inside of him shatter at the sight of the bright green, completely straight line running horizontally across the screen. Distantly, he heard himself scream for a doctor.

After that, he couldn’t breathe. Basil felt like his lungs were being crushed, like his trachea had collapsed in on itself, like a sword had been run through his heart. That piercing wail continued to tear through him, ringing incessantly in his ears, high-pitched and blaring and devestatingly final.

He should have noticed. Should have picked up on the fact that her heartbeat was slowing, that the blips were growing less frequent. Maybe then–

Adults ushered him out of the room, away from his grandmother’s corpse. She looked like she was sleeping. The neverending beep beside her proved otherwise. Basil didn’t think he’d ever seen her so pale. They were a pale family, but she spent enough time outside that her skin had a healthy glow to it, even despite its creases. Since being confined to her room, she’d grown steadily more ghost-like. Basil felt himself tremble harder at the thought.

It was like he was drowning all over again, plummeting endlessly downwards into darkness. Something freezing cold enclosed his lungs, his skin prickled with sweat, and his throat burned as tears ran down his face, a stark warmth in comparison to the chill he was experiencing.

The line shouldn't have been green, he thought suddenly. Green was supposed to be safe. Green meant plants, health, growth, his grandma. It had been her favourite colour, Basil's too. It wasn't fair that one of the last good things he had left had to be ruined too. Basil cried even harder.

It should've been red. Red meant anger, rage, danger, fear, death. Red was Mari's bloodshot eye, the colour that seeped from his skin some nights alone in the bathroom, the colour of his parents' car before they sped off into the distance.

Red was bad, green was good. But now, that green line was all he could think about, and Basil had never felt more miserable.

It was accompanied by that awful, wailing screech. The sound never stopped, piercing through him like nails on a chalkboard, echoing through every chasm of his mind. It was an unearthly cry, one that refused to leave him be.

Basil would even take the solemn silence of Mari's funeral over this. Then, even the sobs had been soundless, the only noise being the droning voice of a man in the suit as her casket lay before them.

It had been open, Mari looking like she was just asleep. But Basil knew about the bone jutting through her neck, the thread through her lips, the blood red glare under her closed eyelids. He knew about the poison of the lily of the valleys, seeping into and rotting him from within.

He'd been surrounded by mourners, by his friends, and said nothing as the thought that this was his fault ran incessantly through his mind. It was like a looping mixtape, showing the biggest mistake hed ever made. The day of Mari's funeral had been one of the worst of his life.

His grandma looked like she was sleeping, too. That day was another.

Basil couldn't do it again, couldn't attend another burial service. He'd already seen the bodies of two of the people he loved, he couldn't bear to stick around any longer. Everyone died someday. Basil was next. He refused to bear the burden of another corpse.

He was selfish. He always had been. Basil was selfish, and a coward, and it hit him that nobody was ever going to find out the truth. Sunny was moving away, and Basil would be dead soon.

He locked himself in his room, tormented by visions of the past and the future, of too-pale skin and scarlet stains.

He saw Aubrey, pink hair just as limp as Mari's had been. Her face was twisted into a terrified scowl, the inky blackness of her unseeing eyes obscured by that vivid teal. Her face, far too white and far too gaunt, seemed thinner than ever, Aubrey looking far more fragile than threatening. Basil should have been there for her. He wasn't.

He saw Hero, dark bags lining his closed eyes. Tear tracks glistened on his cheeks, the composed pillar of support and durability he'd become over the years crumbling once and for all. His hair was a mess, his clothes were a mess, Hero was a mess. This was Basil's fault. A pill bottle lay beside him, empty.

He saw Kel, smile finally gone. Kel would probably live the longest, try to move on, but he'd never be the same again after he found out about Basil's death. Basil imagined him disappearing, moving away from his family through a basketball scholarship. He imagined a lonely life and an almost empty funeral. He imagined Kel's beaming light finally being extinguished in its entirety.

He saw Sunny, a knife buried into his stomach. Blood dropped steadily onto the floor. Drip, drip, drip. Sunny was smiling, finally able to find some peace. Sunny was crying, in agony as he sought to join the sister he'd lost. Sunny was dying, because of Basil, because of what they did. Why Basil did. It was his idea to hang Mari, after all, and he was about to kill himself like the coward he was.

Basil hated himself. He was a failure. He didn't speak to his friends when they chose to stay over. He knew that if he so much as looked at them, everything would start pouring out. He waited until he was under the covers of darkness and everyone was asleep. He grabbed his shears. He opened his door, and stared into a million furious eyes.

He stumbled backwards, tripping over himself in his haste to escape. The high beeping that had receded to just background noise rose again, its screech forcing Basil's hand to clutch his skull as he trembled uncontrollably. The darkness followed him, quickly sweeping over his feet, glueing him in place.

No, no, no, nonononono. This couldn't be happening. This–

"Everything is going to be okay, everything is going to be okay," Basil chanted to himself hysterically over the screaming wail in his mind. His fault his fault his fault. "Everything is–"

The darkness edged further over him, Basil flinching helplessly as it began to overcome him, spreading over his legs too. It was just a shadow, it couldn't hurt him. Basil squeezed his eyes shut desperately, wishing that opening them would reveal no more eyes, no more darkness. Nothing happened. The shadows continued to spread.

The eye that had haunted him for years was reflected back at him a hundred times, tears streaming uncontrollably down Basil's face. He couldn't do this anymore. Not since Mari was dead, since his grandma was dead, Since Sunny was lea–

Sunny. Sunny was leaving, forever, and hadn't said a thing. Basil had sacrificed everything for him, and hadn't seen him in years. Sunny was Basil's everything, but Basil was nothing to Sunny. Basil was nothing. He deserved this.

In truth, Sunny had died years ago. Sunny was pure, innocent and sweet and shy, and would never hurt anyone, least of all Mari. This silent, sociable, knife-wielding murderer was not Sunny. To this Sunny, Basil was a stranger. Basil was nothing. He deserved this.

"Everything is going to be okay," Basil lied, the breathy whisper of his voice rivalling even the pitch of his grandmother's heart monitor. His throat squeezed with panic, constricting his air supply almost entirely.

He had to leave, to run, to do something he could still control. The house was full of danger, full of enemies. Full of pain, full of memories. Basil wrenched his feet from the floor and ran, wrenching the door open as he raced through the dark corridors of his dead grandma's house. Even if he did stick around, there was nowhere for him to go. No-one who would take him in. Basil was nothing.

He slammed the bathroom door shut, no longer caring if anyone heard him. The sound was muffled as that flatline continued to ring in his ears. It would never end, not unless Basil took matters into his own hands. As the darkness began to creep under the bathroom door, his heart pounded, and Basil clutched the shears to his chest with shaking fingers.

It wouldn't be an easy death. His shears were meant for plants, twigs, not people. Basil may have been rotten, but he was also difficult to kill. It would take a lot of effort. He would probably have to stab himself more than once. A shudder ran through him.

Amongst the darkness, a light flickered through, and Basil heard a light knock at the door. He froze, shears threatening to fall from his sweaty hands, his skin freezing. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything.

"Basil?" Hero's sleepy voice met his ears. "Are you okay in there?"

Basil didn't– couldn't respond. Hero couldn't see him like this. The darkness seeped towards him again, eye after eye focusing completely on him. Basil had never liked being the centre of attention.

"Basil?" Hero repeated, worry edging into his voice as he knocked again.

Basil couldn't stop a sob from escaping his throat as he looked down, pressing his chin against his collarbone as he shut his eyes. He knew how his shears worked, he knew the amount of force it took for them to pierce skin. Going through organs would be different, harder, but Basil had to do this. He couldn't keep living, not after all that had happened.

"I'm sorry," he forced out, his voice choked and despairing. He didn't want Hero to be the one to find him, but fate had never been pleasant to him. His voice was quiet, strangled, and even he struggled to listen to it over the incessant beeping.

He didn't expect Hero to hear him, but he did, and soon enough, the older boy was pounding on the door, rattling its handle frantically. "Basil, let me in. Please, please come out. You- everything's going to be okay."

Hero was as much of a liar as Basil was. They were going to end up the same, one way or another. He was glad he wouldn't have to go to Hero's funeral.

Despite Hero's pleads, Basil steadied himself, and shoved the shears straight into his stomach.

He gasped as his skin tore, innards screaming at the unwanted intrusion. Blood poured out, seeping through Basil's clothes. He focused on that, tuning out Hero's voice and instead listening to that awful, awful flatline. His grandma was dead. Basil hoped he'd get to see her again before he was subjected to eternal torment.

The stab wasn't deep enough. Basil pierced his flesh again, and again, until there was a satisfactors puddle of crimson beneath him. Then, be bent over further, instinctively shielding his wounded stomach as more mained tears mixed in with his blood. Hero kept rattling the door, and Basil distantly heard him shout for someone, but it didn’t matter anymore.

The shadows joined him, the eyes curious and approving. He’d done good. This was supposed to happen.

They settled around him, seeping into the wound. A physical manifestation of his guilt, they lingered with him even in death. His stomach was still in turmoil, but every sensation around him felt… Far away. Distant, somehow. He wanted to smile as calm washed over him, but couldn’t muster up the strength to even twitch his lips.

His neck was aching from the strain of keeping it lolling down for so long. His stomach burned, glistening shears still embedded inside. But none of that mattered now, not when Basil might actually be free. The ghost of panic still etched on his face, his hand fell limply beside him, and the world drifted away entirely.

As Basil breathed his final breath, the wailing in his head finally came to a stop.

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