"His mother came up with such a clever way to save the day with a little white lie.
He thinks he missed the point back then, but now he's grown to understand it, in a way.
"Father said "I'm sorry" only once, as I remember"
"The words were not meant to hurt, only destroy you, my stupid son..."
One person can make a difference, sometimes...
Just turn his head when the kid is still and has a weak neck.
Smiled at his funeral, "happy you're dead."
Demyx absently drummed the air with invisible drumsticks, mumbling the words to one of his favorite songs under his breath. He was a fidgety, lanky boy, only the age of fourteen, with a fucked up mind that could match a fifty year old pedophile's. The only difference was that he wasn't a pedophile, or fifty years old. He stopped his drumming, and ceased his singing, eyes getting abnormally wide. He exhaled deeply, and flung his head back, then rocked forward, laying his head against the cold, metal, cafeteria table. He grinned cheesily to himself, and laughed a loud, high pitched laugh, then quickly stopped, sitting up straight, then relaxing.
"If I die and go to hell real soon,
it will appear to me as this room.
And for eternity I'd lay in bed
in my boxers, half stoned,
with the pillow under my head."
He loudly banged his fists against the table, before relaxing, and laying his head back down, muttering to himself while adding a giddy giggle every once in awhile. No one paid any attention to him, just continued with their lunch. It wasn't in their place to complain about his odd behavior. They had their own equally fucked up issues.
Demyx pulled his hands to his chest, and his body twitched, giving weird spasms. He slowly closed his eyes, yawning, all giddiness gone. He was relaxed now, any eyes that had been cast on him vanished, and they all went back to whatever they were doing. It was a usual ritual in the Oblivion Asylum. Demyx refused to take his meds; they were sitting on the tray with his food. Soon the burly male nurses would come in, pin him to the ground and force feed them to him, then send him to his room, where he would sing loudly, then scream for an hour or two, before he slowly drifted off to sleep.
It was always the same nothing ever changed.
He watched the boy across him neglect his pills. Not a smart idea. How he craved the sweet release of a nice blade slicing his pale wrist, He shuddered with delight.
Such and enticing, lovely smell. Such a divine sight. Nn. Don't you just love the blood trickling down your arm, the sardonic laughter you emit after cutting to the pearl white bone, then clenching your fist, blood rushing in puddles?
"No," Zexion said aloud.
"Is it worth it can you even hear me
Standing with your spotlight on me
Not enough to feed the hungry
I'm tired and I felt it for awhile now
In this sea of lonely
The taste of ink is getting old
It's four o' clock in the fucking morning
Each day gets more and more like the last day
Still I can see it coming
While I'm standing in the river drowning
This could be my chance to break out
This could be my chance to say goodbye
At last it's finally over
Couldn't take this town much longer
Being half dead wasn't what I planned to be
Now I'm ready to be FREE!"
Demyx wasn't done with his singing. His words got louder and louder. More obnoxious. Begging for attention. I can hear you Demyx. I can hear you. I understand. Zexion's head said. Keeping those suicidal voices at bay. He hugged himself, frowning, crying. Why? He wasn't sure himself. He wanted his blade, the blade he kept concealed so deceivingly under his mattress. He had been careless though. Too careless.
Lexaeus was a silent boy. He was a bit older than Zexion, but they bonded greatly, even if they didn't talk so often. He sat next to Zexion, lightly placing his tray down in front of him, obediently taking the pills he was required to take. Lithium gave him the runs, but he couldn't neglect his pills. They were the only thing keeping him 'sane'. Then came the question. What is sane? Who is sane?
No one's sane, Lexaeus. You're the only one. Everyone else is psycho. You're the only one...
Lexaeus periodically had relapses, the voices yelling at him, not leaving him alone until he obeyed their every command. That's how he got here. That's why he ended up in this fucked up hell whole. He shouldn't have the lithium. Those are what they gave people like Zexion. No other medication seemed to work though, so they must have been using last resorts, like bi-polar medicine.
The human Ipod was at it again. Demyx really did seem to know every single song ever created. He sang well too, so he was like a source of entertainment. They said he had some kind of ADHD or something. Hyperactive Disorder. Demyx? No. He's not hyperactive at ALL. Sarcasm, of course. rumor has it he went crazy one day and tried to strangle his teacher. He may be among the most unstable in this place.
Lexaeus turned his attention to Zexion. The boy started crying. Emotional little fuck. Lexaeus put an arm around him, pulling him close. The kid was an attention whore. Lexaeus didn't mind, of course, he really like Zexion, in fact. The other's company was pleasing. He'd grown on Zexion, them having been roommates for well over four years now. That's right. Four fucking years in the damned Asylum.
Oblivion. That's where we're all headed. Oblivion.
Lexaeus looked over at Zexion who had calmed down a fraction. He gently wiped the other's tears, then pulled him into a brief hug. Zexion was all he had left, all he'd ever had. He would kill the person who tried to do anything to his beautiful friend. Friend...that wasn't the right word, but it'd have to do.
His fingers swiveled in the air, making beautiful designs that only he could see. He stopped, his ears twitching. He looked around, scowling like a lion searching for prey, then began the deigns again. Sora was more...on the normal side so to speak. He hadn't caused some unspeakable disaster, and he hadn't tried to kill anyone, or hurt himself. He was simply and exuberant kid. He still loved to play pretend. He had imaginary friends, imaginary worlds, imaginary creatures that often haunted him in his sleep. Apparently his mother deemed he was too old for 'pretend'.
She decided he was some kind of freak, and that she was too depressed over the loss of her spouse to deal with his 'games'. He was shipped off to this asylum. This place in the remote, snow blanketed, mother fucking mountains. Even when he first arrived he was chipper, wild, excited. No one knew why. Everyone in the Asylum had something to sulk about.
Sora was often in his room, battling imaginary things with some kind of imaginary key something or the other. He was never alone, his exuberance attracted so many people. Riku was, so obviously, Sora's love interest, and Riku, obviously, fancied Sora as well. People usually grew onto their roommates, finding feigned comfort in one another. It had almost become a fad in Oblivion, dating your roommate. It called for mostly male and male couples, and female and female couples, since the boys and girls were often separates. No. Scratch that. Always sperated. It was no wonder that after x amount of year/months someone could turn gay in the snap of a finger.
"RIKU!" Sora chirped as his friend sat next to him, starting to eat his food; carrots, celery, and sliced potatoes. He picked up a potato, popping it into his mouth as he regarded Sora. He ruffled the other's hair, not greeting him back.
Riku didn't like to eat. It was too much of a hassle to his beautiful body. All the time he was afraid of eating something that wasn't beneficial to his health. Not a speck of grease, or drop of sugar got into his body for months now. Why should he sully such a beautiful and voluptuous body that was given to him? He only ate vegetables and fruits. Only drank milk and water.
He chomped a carrot, ceremoniously breaking it in half. Sora heaved a large sigh, his breath hitting Riku in the cheek, making the other flinch. He ignored the sentiment, then looked down at his tray. Weight gaining pills. That's what they gave him. Like he was some kind of FREAK. So he was anorexic! So what? It was no one's business but his own, and when his mother said he needed help, he refused and ran away, only to be caught and thrown into damn Oblivion. Haha. Oblivion.
Riku ran slender, boney fingers along his visible ribcage, shuddering in delight. The feeling was beautiful. His anemic wrist was grabbed by Sora's hand, and the other slowly made a circle with his forefinger and thumb around Riku's wrist.
"Haha! Riku! You're a skeleton! They have those in Halloween Town too! Why didn't you ever told me you were skeleton? That's so cool!"
Riku looked around, eyes wide. The boys at the other table laughed, snorting loudly as they doubled over, held their sides, trying to speak, only to have their words slurred together by uneven breaths. Riku's face turned red, bright red, and he felt ready to cry.
Why are they laughing!? Why are they laughing at my beautiful body!? I'm beautiful!
Zexion snorted exceptionally loud, purposely gathering attention. "Hey Riku. Make sure they don't leave the window open, you might blow away," he said, rolling his eyes with a pleasant smirk on his face.
Riku turned an even darker shade. "I-I...shut up!" he screamed.
Zexion stuck his tongue out, and laughed. "Make sure you don't fall under a crack in the floor," he said, receiving an even louder catcall from the crowd. The words stuck in Riku's mind, repeating. Words flew in the air like bombs, striking Riku, leaving bad scars on his insides. His intestines burned.
Skeleton! Twiggy! Broom Stick!
Try as he might, Riku could still hear taunting, even as his hands cupped tightly around his ears. "Sh-Shut up..." he said quietly. "Shut up...! SHUT UP!" His voice sliced through the air like a knife through butter, effectively echoing through the cafeteria, though no one seemed to hear him. He jumped across the table, clasping his hands around Zexion's throat. They tumbled to the ground, Riku squeezing the other's windpipe, though not for long. Riku was pulled off by a guard, dragged easily away. He continued screaming, kicking, thrashing, glaring, swearing revenge.