#my friend said this reminded her of the mandela catalogue

[kick3dpuppy2]

"Be not afraid,"

“Be not afraid,” there is an angel at my bedside he draws the curtains shut and i cannot see his face

“Mary,” there is a man upon my bed he draws nearer still and i cannot seem to move

“for you have found favor with God.” there is a god upon me he draws breath beside my ear And who am I to question god?

[goldyluna]

I like to mahe my favorite characters suffer not only in art, but also in words! I think it is a talent of mine to write angst...

Here is my take of Mandela Catalyst and Adam's pain. It may or may not be a part of bigger AU that I think about, but it is work in progress still!

Summary:

This was not what he thought would happen when he went down to this damned basement. He should know better.

Now he just wants the pain to stop.

Full chapter below

It hurt. It hurt so much his skin was melting and lungs were burning. Or maybe he was on fire, because it hurt. His body twisting and disintegrating while he screamed.

His mind was a mess. Messier than ever, he couldn't even form a proper thought. Everything ended in pain and fire. He shouldn't have done that. He should have listened to Jonah and maybe he wouldn't be here. Maybe his friend would still be alive. Maybe everything would be okay. But it isn't and won't be and he is in so much pain.

He wants to die, he has to remind himself about it. He wants to die, that's why he tried, that's why his blood is boiling and insides are twisting. He wants to die, but he can't. He can't. A blessing and a curse some would say, but he only sees it as loathesome irony of life. He got what he was searching for, even if he didn't know what he wanted at the time. Ah, how much he would love to stay blind to the evil. To be invincible. He didn't want to know anymore. He didn't want to be anymore.

But he couldn't.

The world is black in this little room he locked himself in, but he could swear that all he sees is red. Be it his imagination, alternates playing mind games or just blood. Anything is better than the mirror next to him that shows him his mutilated body, his long face and unusual blackness in his eyes. He never had a weak stomach, never avoided horror and gore images. But now... he knew, if his body wasn't already in a such distress, if his stomach wasn't already upset, it would be now with such force, he would retch.

He couldn't look at anything more than red and his reflection. Was it even him? Was this body really his? This voice, hair, hands and birthmarks. Should he even still refer to himself as a "he"? He was "it" no matter how it looked at it, how much it wanted to believe it's all only a bad dream. It or he...

He won't ever wake up human with its friends safe and alive next to it, happy and unbothered. He missed those times. It craved them. How much it would give to just look at Evelyn one last time, hold her hand, say he's sorry. How much he wants Jonah to be here with him, to joke and be silly and not serious at all. How much it wants to see Sarah's determined eyes. They all were as good as dead. Except for him. He. It... Fuck it. He was fated to suffer for eternity. Good grief.

Fuck.

He was in such pain. He could only hear his screams, cries and static.

Help me.

Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me! Help me! Help me!!!

He wanted out, but he couldn't move. It hurt.

It hurts... it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!!

WHY DOES IT HURT SO MUCH?!

Please, make it stop...

He wanted to... end this. So, so, so much.

Why can't I die...

WHY CAN'T I DIE?

He won't ever die.

Was it worth the risk?