Title: Just Dreams?
Author: Shinku Tsuki
Category: Shadows of Dread, Sick Puppy
Type: Original Fiction
Pairing: OC x OC
Warnings: Mental instability, slight yaoi, allusions to death
Copyright: Copyrighted © Shinku Tsuki. All rights reserved.
Summary: Is reality really what it seems, or is it just another fantasy brought out by our imagination?
Notes: Alright, this piece might be a little confusing. It deals with various mental illnesses, and there are jumping POVs, separated by a fairly large space. Hence the odd spacing of this piece. So terribly sorry if anyone is lost by the end of the reading.
He stared up at nothingness. An endless sea of black stretched out before his vision, no substance, no depth. Emptiness. The personification of envelopment, desecration, isolation. A tightening feeling made itself present within his chest, yet he continued. Continued on gazing at the infinite stretch, so haunting, so appealing. Darkness reflected back at him through his already colorless and lifeless eyes, a spark of light ignited from the meeting of two shadows.
Somehow, he knew. He knew it was there, always there, in the covered expanse. Understanding. Somehow, he felt that he was understood. In this darkness, this hatred, this bliss, this solitude. In here, he was no longer lost. Stuck within the fantasy, bled with reality. A secret haven for a tortured mind.
A sound. Something had broken the twisted peace within his realm. Shocked, his dull eyes sparked with once thought missing life. Shattering. The shriek of glass as it splintered upon impact. He tried to move, but he was frozen. Immovable body within his sanctuary. Futilely he tried again, but no avail. A burst of emotion swelled up within his throat.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the scream in his throat was choked back down. Phantom fingers tightened around his neck in a vice, another invisible set forcing its way into his mouth, down his throat. He gagged, choking for air. Arms flailed to free his throat. Halted. More tightening sensations around his arms and legs, pinning him still with disturbingly gentle pressure. Yet the hands around his neck strengthened and nonexistent fingers forced further into his throat.
An attempted breath, a choking sob. His jaw was working fruitlessly, throat flexing and desperate for air. Further, tighter. The darkness came into view again, stronger and deeper. Deeper, deeper, pulling him further away. He seemed to lose focus, but it didn’t matter. The black had already meshed together, an enticing blanket over all. His breathing was almost absent as he felt the pressure increase once more. His own tortured noises faded out, lost amongst the pull. All faded away.
He could see nothing, he could hear nothing.
He felt his eyes glaze over as the silence and darkness took control of him.
But before he lost touch with all he knew, he felt a sharp pang through his throat and a warm trickling sensation.
He shot up straight in his bed, breathing haggard, eyes wide. Panic flooded through him and his heart beat painfully against his ribcage, as if demanding exit; as if it wanted to break through the bone and flesh and leave his bloody body. The wet sound of blood pumping in his veins was all he heard as he moved his shaking arm up to his throat. Gingerly, his fingers brushed along the shifting flesh.
Cold sweat dripped down his face, running along his arched brows before falling down onto the tussled covers. Soon, another liquid followed. Clear and pristine. Hot tears rolled from his still wide eyes, horror etched onto his face as he stared ahead. They fell unbidden, unwanted, down onto quivering hands.
The tears still dropped as his breathing increased again.
The darkness still covered all.
The next day, he carefully dressed himself, slower than normal. He hadn’t been able to sleep again the night before, and his body was paying for the lack of rest. His hands had the slightest shake to them and deep circles lined his eyes. A small movement caught his eye, and he turned his head. Dark eyes stared back at his, long bangs brushing against a pale and sunken cheek from the movement. His chapped lips parted with a slight tremble as he continued to gaze into those eyes. Eyes, going glassy and dull with each passing second.
Soon all in his sight was a blurred illusion. Colors melded together to form a monotonous grey, dark and imposing. The sounds of daily life faded away and he was greeted with silence. Painful, disturbing.
All the nerves in his body leapt at the sudden voice. No, no, no… Please, not now. Go away, please, just leave me alone...
But why leave now? You’ve chased me away for so long.
Glassy eyes continued to stare past the mirror, into something further beyond. Lower lip quivered slightly as chest rose rhythmically.
Leave… just please. Leave me alone, just leave me alone…
Why do you want me to leave?
Shades of grey wrapped around his vision, outlandish swirls and patterns invisible to blind eyes.
Won’t you let me come out and play?
“He’s been acting strangely.”
“I know. It makes a person wonder.”
“Do you think he’s alright?”
“Yeah, he often lapses into moods like this.”
“But he seems… different this time. If possible, he speaks even less than normally.”
“Yeah, that does seem weird.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll snap out of it soon.”
“I still can’t help but worry, though. Didn’t you see the glassy look in his eyes?”
“Now that you mention it, the dazed way he walked around, as if aimlessly searching for something. It was peculiar.”
“Don’t put too much thought into it; he’ll be fine in a while.”
Hidden in the shadows, he watched as his friends discussed him, body clutching to the wall instinctively.
Was he going to be alright?
He walked briskly into his room, tossing his jacket off onto the bed with a scoff. Kicking his boots off angrily, he discarded them to the side. Then turning a quarter of a way, he stared directly into the mirror. His face formed into a scowl upon sight. Walking up to the mirror, he gazed long at its surface, watched the changing face of the figure in front of him. Reaching fingers up, he rested fingertips against the cool glass, eyes narrowing.
He hated the face that looked back at him every time.
Eyes now staring maliciously, he formed his hand into a claw and dragged it across the face looking back at him. Angered eyes stared directly back at him. His hand clenched into a fist on the mirror before he flexed it once more, lifting it gently away with some amount of restrain. His thoughts were jumbled and seemed foreign to him.
He placed his hand along his throat, tilting his head and watching as it ran along the curved column sensually. Random thoughts continued to assault his mind as everything else dimmed away. Now it was only him standing alone in his room, staring at the man within the glass, gently caressing his neck. Minutes of this prolonged. Eyes intently watched each other as hands traced along smooth contours with the grace of a lover’s touch.
A choke could be heard through the silence of the room.
Fingers clenched hatefully against that tempting throat. He glared fiercely back at the figure, standing, watching, mocking. Untrimmed nails dug painfully into delicate skin as he stared murderously, though the pain was barely registered. All he could focus on was the man watching him with just as much passion. How he wanted to strangle that figure, squeeze so hard that the windpipes collapsed. So his grip tightened, hand shaking as he placed his other one on the wall for leverage.
Dark eyes glowered back at him. Hatred, hatred, hatred.
With a choked cry he pried his fingers from off his throat, whipping his head away. Gasping for air and gagging in discomfort, he stared blankly at the carpet. Evergreen. If he slit his eyes, the color deepened and it almost looked as if he was standing upon an endless, dark abyss. He felt a surge of vertigo as if he was about to fall through, and turned his gaze away. Again he faced the mirror. Red marks marred the pale skin of his neck. Same face stared back at him.
He growled at his reflection. How he hated that face.
He sat around the table with everyone else. All the rest were eating and chatting genially. Disgust. A sense of revulsion rose within his throat as he watched their happy faces. His plate was still untouched and he gazed with shielded eyes at all of them. A pair caught his attention though.
He stared point blank at the other, watching the fear grow stronger, a shiny film developing on darkened orbs. He tilted his head and forced his unwilling mouth into a slight smirk.
The other stuttered and struggled with words before falling silent and just staring at their own plate of food.
He narrowed his eyes imperceptibly and just turned away again, lips pressed unwittingly into a perturbed line, eyes losing focus as he got lost within his thoughts.
Happy people irritated him to no end.
“It’s just… didn’t you notice something weird about him today?”
“What about it?”
“He seemed so… bitter.”
“I didn’t see anything. He looked fine. Maybe he just wasn’t hungry.”
“No, there was something in his eyes.”
“And it was?”
“Just calm down, alright?”
“Yeah, probably nothing at all. He could have eaten something bad earlier and felt like crap.”
“Heh, sounds like something he would do.”
“... I guess.”
He walked with them, out of the room. The show was over, but they had opted to keep their costumes and make up on as they headed out to the local club to celebrate. He tucked a styled strand of hair behind his ear, laughing along with the rest as they walked the short distance from the theater to the neighborhood hot spot. Smoothing the skirt down over his thighs, he thought about fixing his knee-high leather boots, but was too lazy to pause. So he just settled for fixing the top that flattered his small torso without revealing much about his figure.
He had played the role of a female in the play and it had suited him well. With his flamboyant display and already effeminate features, he pulled the act off marvelously. No one would have been the wiser, had they not seen that the name written next to his role was that of a man. Deciding to prolong the act a bit longer, he added a sway to his steps, hips moving delicately as he flicked his hair. Laughter followed his antics and they walked down the street merrily.
Soon they were in the club, loud music and bizarre lighting effects playing around their bodies. Pounding bass, shocking colors. The haze of alcohol and sweat wrapped around him and beckoned. They all gathered around a table, and drinks were quickly ordered. Though, after barely sipping any of his glass, he got bored of all the sexual innuendos and perverted jokes he was pulling at his co-workers. Looking for more forms of entertainment, he excused himself before strutting out onto the dance floor. He pushed his way into the center of the mass of gyrating bodies and started to dance.
His hips rotated rhythmically as his feet moved, head rolling to the side as his arms slid along his stomach. His provocative dancing apparently caught the eye of quite a few, and soon he was approached. Strong, muscular arms slid around his waist and a tall body pressed against his own. He fell into a new pattern and rhythm with the stranger, letting the intense music travel through him and lead him wherever it pleased.
Looking out across the dance floor, he tilted his head to the side and gave a wicked grin.
He pushed the other back onto his bed, climbing on after him and straddling his stomach. He stared down at him through his bangs, fingering the choker on his neck that hid the evidence that would give away his gender. The other reeked of alcohol and he had to crinkle his nose slightly from the smell. But pushing that to the back of his mind, he played with the shirt collar on the stranger he had brought home. The man was staring at him with a gaze dripping with lust. He grinned mischievously before bringing one hand up to trace down one muscular arm.
“Hmm, so can I play with you?”
His own voice was higher than usual, adjusted to a female alto through practice, and purposely teasing. The man licked his lips before replying.
“Whatever you want, doll face.”
Cocking his head to the side, he ran his hand up along a broad shoulder.
“Anything I want?”
He leaned down and placed his mouth right next to the other’s ear, whispering breathlessly as his hand went up to cup a slightly flushed cheek.
“And what if I said I wanted to gouge out your pretty little eyes just to see how bright they’d be when covered in blood?”
He could feel the muscles tense beneath him and gave a little giggle. His little laugh only seemed to alarm the man further and strong arms pushed him away, the other staring at him oddly.
“What the hell?”
He had wide grin on his face, a maniacal twinkle in his eyes. Red began to seep into his vision, and little urges were prodding at the back of his mind. Everything blended together, a haze of crimson and distorted shapes. Another giggle left his throat as his fingers blindly groped. Quickly and forcefully, he grabbed the other’s throat and began to squeeze.
Hands were grabbing at his, but he didn’t mind. Adrenaline was pumping in his body as he pressed harder, grin on his face twisting into a frightening snarl, yet girlish giggles still emanated from his throat. His other hand slid up to scratch long nails along that bare chest, his seemingly delicate hand closing further.
“But I thought you said I could play with you.”
All that was heard within the room afterwards was a choked scream and manic giggling.
“You know, he was acting oddly last night.”
“Yeah, I didn’t see anything that out of sorts either. He was acting as usual, teasing and joking.”
“No, I mean… on the dance floor.”
“Yeah, not everyday you see him dancing with another man.”
“Heh, I feel sorry for the bastard that he dragged home. He’s going to be in for quite a shock.”
“I never even knew he swung that way.”
“You’re changing the subject! Listen to me.”
“Fine, what is it?”
“He was acting strangely, I tell you.”
“Oh lighten up a bit.”
“I mean it. There was a strange glint in his eyes. It looked unnatural.”
“Man, you’re so paranoid.”
“I am not. Honestly, I think there’s something wrong with him.”
“Fine, don’t listen to me.”
No, not again… Just please, leave me alone!
But why? We can have so much fun together.
I don’t want you to cause trouble… Please, just go away.
But trouble is half the fun.
No, it’s bad! Just go away and stay away!
Aww, but aren’t you even going to let me come out to play?
Tinkling laughter and an anguished cry.
“No, none at all.”
“Does he still go on about them?”
“Yes, he does. All he talks about are these illusory characters.”
“How many identities?”
“Fifteen discovered, so far. That’s not including the Inner Self Helper, for we still haven’t been able to locate it.”
“And he converses with all of these?”
“Yes, except for one. Persona B is the only one he doesn’t converse with.”
“And does he assume all identities?”
“No, he takes on the roles of about two of them, fluctuating often between them and the original character. They are Persona B, anger, and Persona C, manic. Often the switches are erratic and violent.”
“Age difference in main identities?”
“B appears to be around eighteen or so, while C regards himself as twenty-four.”
“How does he react to conversations and switching?”
“Conversations with the thirteen dormant are peaceful, sometimes confusing, but otherwise safe. Though, when he converses with C he is frightened to no end. And during switching, from the original to the two alters, he’s usually submissive and terrified, feeling threatened. Though when B and C switch, there seems to be a struggle between them.”
“Hmm, has there been an explanation found for it yet?”
“Not that we know of. As we are aware of, he’s never been sexually, verbally, or physically abused.”
“How dreadful, and at such a young age, also. Never have I thought that I would see a case where both Schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder were present at fifteen, and so severely. It’s much more common among adults.”
“Excuse me, doctors. The patient has woken up and become restless and frantic again. What should we do with him?”
“Just sedate him and put him back to sleep once more. Let him continue with his dreams; they’re safer than letting him stay awake.”
Wide eyes stared at the white ceiling in the hospital, a small body hunched over on the corner of the bed in a straight jacket. The young boy rocked back and forth, eyes nervously darting around and breathing ragged.
The door slid open and two men in white outfits walked in, one carrying a tray. He set it down and began filling up one of the syringes with a clear liquid. The other one walked over to the panicky child and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Now lay down; we’re going to let you go to sleep now.”
The small body unfolded and laid back down the mattress, curled on the side. Glassy eyes stared up, out of focus and empty. Vacant. Chapped lips parted, quivering slightly before curving lightly in a smirk.
“Does that mean you’ll let me come out and play?”
Is reality really what it seems, or is it just another fantasy brought out by our imagination?