It hurts.
No,
I hurt.
Everything hurt.
I felt it.
I felt my chest open.
Not like a cut. Not like something breaking.
Like something went through me and stayed there. Like my body didn't know what to do with it. Like it was trying to close around something that wasn't supposed to exist.
I could feel it.
Cold spread from it.
Slow at first.
Then deeper.
Faster.
Crawling through my ribs. Into my stomach. Up my throat.
My throat,
It tightened.
Locked.
Like it forgot what it was supposed to do.
I tried to breathe.
I couldn't.
My lungs filled with something thick. Heavy. Wet.
It didn't stay still. It shifted.
Every time I tried to pull in air, it just sat there. Like I was drowning without water.
I couldn't tell if it was air or blood.
My arms
They weren't mine anymore.
I couldn't feel them.
Couldn't move them.
I couldn't tell where they were.
I tried to move them.
Nothing happened. Or maybe they did and I just couldn't feel it.
I felt it.
Death.
Not as an idea.
Not as a thought.
As something real.
Something close.
Something already inside me.
I was going to die.
...Maybe I already did.
But even then
I had to do something.
Say something.
Anything.
I wasn't going to let this place take that from me too.
So I said it.
I called her a bitch.
That woman.
...
She wasn't wrong.
I was weak.
I saw it in her eyes.
The way she looked at me.
Not just anger.
Not just annoyance.
Disgust.
Real disgust.
Not at what I did.
At what I was.
Something that moved because it had to.
Not because it could.
Not because it wanted to.
Just. something that kept going.
...
Why?
What was my goal again?
To be remembered?
To get back at this place?
For forcing me to fight?
To prove something?
...
Was that it?
Maybe it was just spite.
Maybe I just didn't want to disappear.
I don't know.
Does it even matter anymore?
I'm dead.
...Good.
That's good.
At least it'll stop hurting.
At least I don't have to try anymore.
...
It's funny.
I thought I was doing something.
I won two fights.
Two.
And I thought...
Maybe I could be strong.
Maybe I was getting stronger.
Maybe I can live.
...
After two fights?
That's all it took for me to believe that?
That I could live here?
...
Stupid.
It's laughable.
The thought that I had a chance.
That I could survive here.
...
I was alone.
I've always been alone.
Even him.
Even that guy. Myers.
He didn't choose me.
Not really.
He just didn't want to die.
He was going to kill me that day.
I know he was.
I saw it.
Felt it.
He just. didn't.
That's it.
That's all I was worth.
A decision I couldn't make. Couldn't change.
...
So why did I try so hard?
Why did I keep fighting?
Why didn't I just
Stop?
That day.
When I woke up.
In the trash.
I remember it.
The smell.
Rotting.
Wet.
Cold.
Buried.
Barely breathing.
Something stuck to my face.
I couldn't even move right.
I should've just stayed there.
Let it press in.
Let it take me.
Let the weight close over my face until there was nothing left to breathe.
It would've been quieter.
Easier.
No pain.
No fighting.
No pretending.
...
Born in trash.
Died as trash.
...
Fitting.
...
...
No
...
Hm?
That didn't feel right.
That thought
It wasn't mine.
...
I tried to let go.
Tried to sink.
Let everything go quiet.
...
But something wouldn't let me.
...
There's something there.
I can feel it.
Not in my chest.
Not in my head.
Somewhere else.
Somewhere I can't reach.
...
It's pushing.
Not hard.
Just enough.
...
Move.
...
What?
...
That-
That wasn't me.
I didn't think that.
...
Don't stop.
...
I can't breathe.
My body won't move.
Everything feels... heavy.
Cold.
...
But that feeling
It won't go away.
...
Get up.
...
I don't want to.
I'm tired.
So tired.
...
No.
...
Who is that?
...
Even thinking hurts.
Leave me alone.
...
Not yet.
...
No
Stop.
...
I can feel it.
Something pulling.
Dragging me back.
...
The pain
It's coming back.
I can feel it crawling into my chest again.
Spreading.
Tearing.
...
Please...
...
Leave me alone.
...
Not until he's dead.
...
What
...
Who
...
I don't
...
I don't want that.
I don't care.
I just...
I just want it to stop.
...
Get up.
...
My body won't move.
But something inside me
It's forcing it.
Pushing.
Pressing.
Refusing to let me go still.
...
No.
Stop.
Please
...
My chest tightens.
My lungs
They try.
They force air in.
It burns.
It hurts.
...
I gasp
Or try to.
...
Why
...
Why can't I just die?
...
Wake up!
...
Something tightens in my chest, deep and sudden, like everything inside me is being pulled together at once. At first it's just pressure, heavy and building, like something sitting on top of me, pushing down harder and harder until I can't tell if I'm breathing or not.
Then it shifts.
The pain starts to spread.
Slow at first, then faster, crawling through my ribs in sharp, uneven lines, each one dragging upward like something is forcing its way through me from the inside. It burns as it moves, not like heat but like something raw, exposed, being rubbed open again.
I try to breathe.
Nothing comes in.
My chest moves...but it doesn't fill.
It just… stops.
Like there's no space left.
Like something is already there.
...
I try again.
Harder.
My throat tightens around it, closing halfway before forcing open, and when something finally moves it isn't air.
It's thick.
Warm.
It sticks.
...
I choke.
A wet, broken sound tears out of me as something floods up my throat, spilling into my mouth before I can stop it. It fills everything...my tongue, my teeth, the back of my throat...and suddenly I can't tell where it's coming from because it's everywhere at once.
I try to inhale...
And it goes down the wrong way.
...
The moment it slips into my lungs, everything tightens at once, not like before where it was just pressure, but something worse, something full and heavy and wrong, like whatever is inside me has nowhere left to go and now it's forcing itself deeper, filling spaces that shouldn't be filled, dragging my chest tighter with every failed breath.
I try again, even though I don't want to, even though I already know it won't work, and the attempt only makes it worse as my lungs strain against something that refuses to move, something thick and suffocating that turns every inhale into nothing and every exhale into less.
There's no air.
There's no space.
There's just weight.
And for a moment,
I'm fine with that.
There's no panic, no urgency, no instinct screaming at me to fight it, just a quiet understanding that this is how it ends, that this pressure building in my chest, this slow tightening, this suffocating heaviness is finally enough to stop everything.
It would be easier to let it.
To stop trying.
To let whatever is left of me just… sink into it.
...
But something doesn't let me.
...
My chest jerks forward again, harder this time, forcing a violent cough that tears through my throat and drags something up from deep inside my chest, thick and hot as it floods into my mouth before I can stop it. It spills over my tongue, metallic and choking, forcing itself past my lips as I gasp,
It's warm.
Too warm.
,and I feel it, warm, wet, and splattering across my face before trailing down along my neck and over my skin, the heat of it standing out against how cold my body feels.
It doesn't stop.
It keeps coming like my body doesn't know how to stop it.
My vision flickers.
Not dark. Just... wrong. Like it's slipping in and out.
Another cough hits, sharper, more desperate, and this time it forces its way out through my nose as well, burning as it goes, thick drops spilling out uncontrollably, spreading across my lips, my face, my chest, mixing with each broken breath as my body keeps trying to clear it, keeps trying to force air in where there isn't any space left.
I can feel it in my chest.
Still there.
Still filling me.
Every movement pushing more of it up, more of it out, but never enough, never clearing, just dragging the suffocating weight along with it.
...
Stop.
...
The thought barely forms, slow and distant, but whatever is inside me doesn't listen, doesn't hesitate, just keeps pushing, keeps forcing my lungs to expand, to contract, to fight against something I've already accepted.
I don't want this.
I don't want any of it.
...
But the pain doesn't stop.
...
It builds.
Not all at once, but steadily, each breath tearing through my throat, each cough dragging more blood up from my chest, each inhale dragging it deeper the wrong way, choking me over and over again until it stops feeling like dying and starts feeling like being trapped inside it.
...
"…stop…"
...
Another breath forces its way in, ragged and uneven, pulling more of it with it, burning all the way down, and I can feel it spreading again, deep in my chest, thick and suffocating, refusing to let me settle into it, refusing to let me fade.
I don't want to die like this.
Not because I want to live...
But because I don't want to hurt anymore.
...
Move!!!
…
Fine.
...
Just one more
That's it.