mine eye

Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
 Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, 
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Frost at Midnight

---

MY EYELIDS FLUNG THEMSELVES open, before recoiling away from the harsh rays of the early sunlight that greeted the people of the norms in the early morning. I attempted again, and this time, my pupils grew more accustomed to the blinding rays and proceeded to weakly look at my surroundings, fighting back the urge to panic at the sight of an unfamiliar location.

Well, I analyzed, there was a searing pain throbbing below my lower thighs and upper neck, but the throbbing was nothing more than a dull, thumping sound that won't go away, which grated on me, which sort of explained why it was painful.

Shit. I froze, suddenly horrified. What happened?

I violently discarded the satin blankets off of me, ripping off any sort of preclusion that might've prevented me from seeing my body, before soundlessly releasing a breath that I didn't know I had been clinging to. 

My limbs were still intact—but badly damaged, of course. The iron chains left their un-forgiving markings forever implanted on my skin, so that the flesh above my feet is twisted and mutilated, turning into something dark, reddish, and purple. Most of my other injuries were covered with bandages though; including the wrist that I thought was broken, as if some form of higher deity decided to finally acknowledge my existence and take pity on me.

But the healing of my injuries did not explain where I was, or who had kidnapped me.

And why I was clad in proper human attire and currently lying on a very comfortable bed with delicious food beside the nightstand of the aforementioned piece of wood, basically seducing me on to consume everything. The last time I saw a decent amount of bread with butter on an actual plate and not thrown carelessly onto the floor was, well, never. The mere fact that I was laying in such an expensive-looking room, seemed so surreal. It almost felt like a delusion that I would never normally dare to dream of.

Jesus Christ. I clutched my head, and squeezed it tight, unused to the strange, tight feeling fluttering within the confines of my chest.

Were they toying with me? Playing some sort of mind game to fuck with my already deteriorating mental state? Did my kidnappers decided that this bloodthirsty kid with the slowly declining mental health would want to live in a life of luxury and solitude for a limited amount of time before ripping it all away from him in a matter of seconds? Or did they just mistaken me for the wrong person, or god forbid, the wrong 'product' that was in dire need of grooming? The possibilities of the latter actually being true was close to none existent because anybody with a brain would be able to differ a prostitute from a skinny boy covered in every fucking liquid imaginable.

Which made me come to a startling realization that, fuck, I was weak, malnourished, and most importantly, vulnerable. I had absolutely nothing to protect myself with, and I was within enemy grounds, probably their main focus, or the focus that needed to be reckoned with.

Which meant I couldn't escape.

I grabbed my hair and nearly ripped it out from my skull out of sheer frustration. Freedom was so, so close to me, that, at that time, I thought that there was absolutely no way that it was going to be taken from me, seeing that it was so close within my reach.

To vent out the anger that was coiling itself around my neck, I grabbed the nearest object near me, and threw it at the opposite wall, and the glass of water shattered everywhere, leaving nothing but broken crystallized remains. To think that my plans of freedom were snatched away from me so easily . . .

And what about those kids? 

My stomach twisted and turned thinking about them. Did they make it out safely? Were they able to leave? And why was I so concerned about them? Did I care for them? This nearly made me tear one portion of my unruly hair out of my head. No. That's impossible. That couldn't be it. Maybe it was my conscience's way of showing me that I was merely human? That this was its way of showing me that I wasn't just a beast wrought from the cold laboratory table inside that sterile conflagration?

For a second, I feared I was going to retch all over the expensive floor, never mind the fact that releasing any form of bile in my body would only worsen my already horrible condition. Everything was just too confusing, too puzzling, any information that I could come up with was muddled, disoriented, and my mind was in shambles because of it, because I just can't think straight and grasp the situation at hand.

My eyes widen and I momentarily stopped pulling at my hair. Wait . . . was this what they were aiming for? Their intention? To toy with me and my fucked-up mind by simply placing me in a small, luxurious room filled with nothing but things a normal human would only dare to fight tooth and nail for? To make me panic in an un-doubtfully comfortable and unfamiliar surrounding? Because if it was, then they were crueler than anyone else I've ever come across of. To think they would go so far as to resort to this. My blood froze and my jaw clenched tightly.

I needed to leave. I needed to find a way out. I don't want to stay in this godforsaken place for another second.

As carefully and as silently as I could, I slipped off the bed, wincing at the jolting pain that suddenly reverberated throughout my upper back, still unused to the usage of my body after what felt like months of staying in such a stiff position, before limping towards the nearest door, silently tugging at it to see if it was working before giving it a light push, surprised when it creaked and opened, almost as if it was just waiting for me to do that. A sudden rush of relief flooded me, with just the tiniest speck of suspicions, disbelieved that my captors would leave something as crucial as the entry way un-attended. Were they really this careless?

I was uneasy, but I wasn't willing to let this opportunity slip pass my fingers. Carefully, I slid outside, noticing the dim lightings of the hallway, before mutely closing the door, sneaking pass really bright lightings and looming shadows, thankful that it was dark outside and nobody caught sight of me yet; but it was just a matter of time before they realized I escaped from my sleeping quarters.

Hastily, I ran for the nearest exist in sight, but clearly, I overlooked something, something crucial, because this house was fucking huge, and there was no exit in sight, just corridor after endless corridor with doors that could lead to anywhere.

Jesus, this mansion was a fucking labyrinth.

There was nowhere for me to turn or hide, and I realized a little too late that it was reckless of me to think that escaping here would be as easy as breathing. In any other given time, I would be panicking, but now since I've gotten myself into this situation, I couldn't turn back. Leaving that room was crossing a one-way boundary, one that I wasn't willing enough to return to.

I paused, eyes narrowing. Was I scared? The prospect of fear wasn't one that occurred to me every day. But this emotion most certainly is not fear, not with the way I'm reacting right now. I'm not scared, but lost, especially without the helpful aid of a weapon to reassure me.

I couldn't seem to breathe all of a sudden. Shit, I forgot that I didn't have a weapon. Once more, I was forced to face the fact that I was vulnerable and weak, that without firearm, I am but a run-away experiment, desperately trying to flee from something that was already deemed unescapable since my birth. 

I willed such thoughts away, shaking my head, before venturing further down the dimly-lit hallway.

Then, my breath hitched and turned rigid, and my skinny arms flew up to my mouth to prevent any sort of sound to escape my lips, my eyes widening into an abnormal state. What was that? Was I about to whimper? I shoved a fist into my mouth to stifle the pathetic noise. I'm shaking, that much was noticeable, and everything was disoriented, everything was turning and spinning out of control.

Wait, What? Why was everything spinning out of control?

Then, I noticed it. Two blurry figures with torch-like things in the distance, shouting what seemed like orders.

They were heading this way.

Gritting my teeth and willing the headache away, I bolted up and ran as fast as I could towards a different direction, hoping that the tell-tale 'pit-pat' of my feet won't give away my location. Thank God it didn't.

But something else did.

Due to the fact that I couldn't see clearly and everything in general was just blurry and incomprehensible, I knocked over what seemed like something made out of glass, judging from the loud 'crash' that resounded throughout the halls, the shards piercing through the floor near my feet. Just my luck. Someone from somewhere I couldn't identify apparently heard the noise, and yelled some things in a language I couldn't understand.

Desperately, I picked up the largest piece of glass I could find, not minding the trickle of blood that slithered in-between my fingers, stood up, and made another bail for it, making a left turn and hoping that the crash wouldn't bite me back some time later in the future.

But as I started to think that I managed to escape them, someone barricaded the entrance with their bodies, surrounding and preventing me from continuing my little escapee. With no option left, I ran the other direction, but that, too, was barricade with, what I assumed, strong men clad in black suits. They all remained head-fast and firm, showing no signs of letting me go. I halted, and tried to take in deep and shallow breaths, one hand on my knee, the other holding the remains of the vase near my face as a defense mechanism, my left eye closed and the other observing my enemies, trying to predict their next move. As weak as my body currently was, I wasn't such a coward that I would go down without even fighting.

"Tsuna . . . you shouldn't strain your body so much when you just woke up, y'know?" Fuck.

I turned around, breathless, just barely standing up. I was pretty sure one of my legs had fallen asleep, and that the rest would certainly follow suit if I don't manage to stop these people. The hazy figure of a familiar swordsman came into view, wearing that shitty and ironic grin of his again, but there was that familiar gleam of sadness in his eyes, and another emotion I couldn't begin to decipher.

"Sh—Shut up," I bit back, wincing at how pathetic I sound. What was happening to me? "D—Don't come any c—closer . . ." Even saying one full sentence was taking a toll on me and my body. I took two steps back, slouching on the wall, and when the hazy figures of the guards edged towards me, I snarled, waving the piece of glass, threatening to stab them with it.

I felt my stomach drop at the number of artilleries attached to their sides. The chances of me surviving the gunshots were zero to none, never mind my artificial body, even someone like me wouldn't survive a simultaneous attack all at once, especially taking in consideration the state my body was in right now.

The number of men then compared to now was doubled. And they were powerful, very powerful, that much I could tell.

But, surprisingly, they didn't even lift a finger, just sending looks of utter disbelief towards their boss, who laughed and shrugged. He was grinning again.

"I'll take him back to his room myself," he said to one of his men, still smiling. "I'm pretty sure Tsuna is still unaccustomed to the fact that he's going to live with us from now on—"

I couldn't begin to comprehend what he was saying—me living with them? The mere thought alone was suffocating and unbearable. And I'll never let it happen. Ever.

Over my dead fucking body.

Before I knew it, I had swung the shard of glass towards him in blinded rage, thrusting it forward, but he simply dodged it, a surprised look in his laughing eyes. This time, his subordinates did raise their guns, frowning severely, and I cringed at the amount of pistols pointed at me, but he just waved them off.

Still angry and slightly puzzled, I thrusted the glass, but, again, he dodged it, now grinning. I wanted to wipe that ridiculous smile off of his face. How dare he mock me. I tried stabbing him, using any advantages I could, trying to take him by surprise, and when he just seems to grow more amused and entertained, I grew more weary and tired. Really tired. So tired, that I swung my hands a little too far, making me lose my balance.

When was the last time I gasped and panted for air like this?

I wobbled. He stood. "I think that's enough of that Tsuna," he whispered to me, smiling. He gestured for his men to leave, dismissing them, and like the obedient dogs that they were, they bowed and parted, leaving their boss to cater with the stubborn run-away that refused to listen.

He raised his hand and reached out towards me, but I slapped it away, albeit weakly. Too weakly. I can't even feel the nerves working in my body. "D—Don't touch me . . ." I hissed. He paused, before his face morphed into one of surprise. And not the pleasant kind. He pulled me towards him, and this time I didn't push him away. I didn't have the strength to do so. The warmth from his skin made me want to tear his arm out of its socket. Aside from insanely strong and smiling swordsmen, I hated physical contact the most.

"What happened to your hand Tsuna?" he exclaimed, face pale. I furrowed my eyebrows weakly, confused. What? My hand was fine.

"My hand is—fine . . ." I voiced my thoughts aloud, and he gaped at me in disbelief. What was wrong with him? It's not like my hand was mutilated or something.

"Your hand is bleeding—shit, it's because of that glass isn't it?" Quickly, he slapped the hazardous piece of object away from my hand as easily as snapping his fingers, which made me protest in shock.

That was my only weapon. What was I going to defend myself with now?

I was pissed. Very pissed. Had I had the strength, I would have ripped his heart out then and there without any hesitation. "You—You arrogant—bastard . . ." I hated this so much. I can't even bring myself to insult him, since saying anything was like getting punched in the stomach by a giant fist. Twice.

He grimaced. Only now did I notice the amount of blood gushing out from my self-inflicted wound. "Tsuna you idiot! Can't you see the blood trailing down your hand!" he yelled, referring to me in that unfamiliar name again, which worsened my headache and made me want to stab him with something sharp before then stabbing myself to end my miseries. I hated puzzles, hated situations where I couldn't begin to understand what the fuck was going on.

Surprising the both of us, I pushed him away with my quivering arms, staggering backwards, breathing heavily, and clutched my bleeding hand. It wasn't even that damaged, his concern was unrequired. "I told you—" My jaw clenched. "—to stay the fuck away from me," I spat, threatened, noting how I cracked mid-sentence, before taking two steps backwards, waiting for his reaction.

One heartbeat passed, and then two, and an agonizing silence engulfed the excess distance between us, before the swordsman disappeared and re-appeared, startling me, and in one swift and unpredictable movement, scooped me up in his arms. How the hell does this stranger move so quickly? Had I been any lesser person, I would've gaped at him.

"Enough, Tsuna. That's enough," he commanded in a much more softer tone of voice, smiling. "It's alright now. Sleep."

And much like a spell, my eyelids felt heavy and faltered, and every nerve, every fraction of my body, even my will to retaliate and fight back. This . . .

I lifted my chin, and looked at him, eyes twitching at the victorious, and disgusting grin plastered all over his stupid face.

This. Fucking.

Bastard.

xXx

An empty, bleak space surrounded me, darkness stretching miles after endless miles of excessive space. Everything was blurry, unclear even, the lack of lighting made it hard to see anything at all. I wasn't stark naked, but everything was cold, and I felt weak, and tired.

Why was I always tired?

Everything hurts, every joint, every bone, felt like it'd been stabbed and sawed off. The ground beneath me was cold to the touch, but hot, like ice and fire mixed together.

Then, suddenly, the scene shifted, and there was just red.

The indicative, ever allusive red.

And then, bodies.

Piles after endless piles of bodies.

Now, I was standing in the middle of what seemed like a bloodbath. Everything was red, but not beautiful, no, but destructive, confusing. I didn't feel joyous, didn't feel the satisfaction of having spilled those beautiful drops of crystallized rubies with my own two hands. Didn't feel the tremor and anticipation of finding out that I was the one who caused it.

I looked down. And I instantly knew why. Differed why this situation felt so diverse compared to the last time I reined my wrath on those degenerates.

The bodies of children.

Piles after endless piles of dead children.

They clawed beneath me, cajoling, begging. Small mouths twisted and screwed into a big hole, screaming, but I didn't hear anything; perhaps I was deaf. Or dead. They were bathed in blood, red, rubies, but for the first time, the metallic stench made me falter back, disgusted. For the first time, I wanted to push both my hands up my nostrils to prevent myself from gagging. The smell—it was revolting.

They tugged my legs, pulling me down the ground, deeper and deeper, all the while howling in despair, where I rightfully belonged.

Maybe these children served as a reminder of how much of a monster I was; an abomination that should never have existed. Human embodiments of my sins, my transgressions. To return back to the soil and forever be forgotten, to crumble into nothing but dust and dirt, a mistake, a hiccup, in history, to serve as nothing but a warning to humanity of what dangers happen when they cross their boundaries, try to exceed their limitations, to leave behind their sanity to continue a life of immorality and ungodliness.

One child bit me, and I felt the pain like the sudden jolt of electricity. Their fingers didn't tug me anymore; they were now forcefully pulling me down, clenching their tiny fists so tightly around my legs that I was sure that they'd end up tearing my limbs away from me at some point.

"Santuario!" the child cried, pulling one of his eyes out, the nerves, too, were dragged from his brain, and a gaping hole looked back at him, and his face was etched in a mixture of ecstasy and pain. He flashed a smile at me, offering his damaged eye.

"Santuario! Santuario!" they chanted, all proceeding to mutilate and dissect themselves, which made my eyes round with disbelief: biting their left arm, tearing an eye out, dissecting, slicing themselves, at one point, biting each other, all the while looking up at me, yelling, "Santuario! Santuario!" Wailing, clawing at me. They weren't even recognizable anymore; just mutilated body parts.

"Santuario!" they cried.

"Dallo a noi!" another one wailed.

"Santuario, dollo a noi!" they all chanted in sync, and they proceeded to drag me down, crying, repeating the same words over, and over again, like an unbreakable mantra: "Dallo a noi; santuario! Santuario! Santuario!"

"Stop . . ." I hissed, couldn't take any more of this. They wailed louder, their expression growing more pained, more mad. They became violent, now tearing off their organs and offering that to me. The sight of the blood would have normally filled me with euphoria, but now it just made my stomach clench and unclench tightly with disgust.

"Santuario!" they pleaded, voices set in a hysterical wail. "Dollo a noi!" They were growing more aggressive, more forceful. Their mouth continued to repeat the same phrases.

I broke free from their strong clutches, and they jerked back, astounded, before releasing a horrific yell, before crawling after me at such high speed that was supposed to be deemed physically impossible, yelling the same words, but in a deeper set of voice now; it was terrifying. It weren't pleas for help anymore, for safety, but rather, satanic chanting, they were looking at me with a type of fierceness I've never before witnessed in my entire life.

"Santuario . . ." they trailed, mouths opened so wide it could've easily swallowed my entire arm, eyes so bloodshot and empty that it was demonic. "Santuario . . . Dollo a noi . . . Dollo a noi . . ." there were echoes in their chanting, almost as if the entire empty space around me agreed with them, and wanted to repeat the same sentiments over and over and over . . .

And then, a dead end. Red. Red. Red.

I stopped running, and red slowly engulfed me, covering me, filling me up like a child coloring a piece of paper. What was the point anymore? What was the use of trying to escape something that's already been done . . . from something unescapable . . .

Strong, and disparaging arms twirled me around, and the face looking back at me felt like something entirely out of a nightmare.

Tissues, muscles, flesh . . . it was twisted, bending at all the wrong angles, concaving inside. Some bones poked out, crushed though, as though even that, was going to collapse at any minute, and the smell of decaying flesh was difficult to overlook. Hands that were unrecognizable and torn . . . fractured skulls and bones . . .

Such was the work of mankind.

"Santuario . . ." the thousands of faces whispered, and I saw a bit of sadness in there too. So difficult to decipher, to know what was going through these tortured souls minds, to be doomed and condemned to forever beg for something unachievable. Despite their mutilated and inhuman form, they still seek for safety . . . for sanctuary . . .

But then their mouths opened again. "Dollo a noi!" they howled, screeching even, shaking me, tugging my soul. "Dollo a noi! Dollo a noi! Dollo a noi! Santurio! Santuario! Dollo a—"

"—noi," I whispered.

My eyes fluttered open. I sat upright, and winced, noticing that the headache was still there; just milder, less intense somehow. It was nothing more than a slight throb at the back of my head.

It took me but of a second later to realize that I was breathing unevenly and that my breaths came in short, erratical gasps. Hastily, I breathed in and out, trying to calm myself down, to reassure myself that I was alright, that none of it was real, that it was all just an image—a sick, sick twisted image, conjured up by my brain. I'm alright now. I anchored myself with everything that I could see—books, shelves, tables, solid things, anything, to assure myself that I wasn't trapped anymore within the boundaries of my own reality. I was fine. It was just a nightmare.

But even as I thought of this, even as I try to assure myself, my heart continued to rattle at an abnormally fast state, knowing that my own words weren't quite true . . .

Because that wasn't just a dream. It had happened. I had seen it before.

Not quite as horrific perhaps . . . not quite as gory and as bloody maybe, but the truth remains that it had happened. The children who I had failed to save, who I failed in general, crying out to me, begging me to go back, to go back and save them, to retrieve their restless souls, to give them a sense of peace. Wailing for sanctuary, begging for it . . . It had happened.

And the truth was . . . it was never going to stop haunting me. It follows me everywhere, like a shadow, or a dark, foreboding cloud that refuses to go away, or the constant nagging feeling at the back of my head, or a piece of scrap at the edge of my foot. It was always going to remain there. Reminding me. Taunting me. Of that place, of santuario. Of my sins, of my inner demons . . .

Of myself.

I stood up, the blanket falling off of me again, abandoned on the expensive floor, and walked towards the exit, expecting it to be locked, but, surprisingly enough, it was open, and it moved forward with a small creak.

I didn't hesitate.

I left the room and silently slipped back into the shadows.  

xXx 

  test papers should be burned. criticism is much appreciated. good-bye