Senri Mao (bigmaoth) wrote in repose, @ 2017-11-16 14:30:00 |
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Being away from the city was like being away from life itself. This slow, sleepy town shit didn’t suit Mao at all, it reminded him too much of the cozy little suburbs he had been shipped to one after another during his stint in foster care. Fucking awful. There was absolutely nothing going on here, aside from some sort of wild costume party that he totally missed out on and was totally not completely bitter about, thanks. He was going stir crazy, and as each boring day passed he got a little more restless, a little more tense and wound up and ready to do something stupid like what got him stuck out here in hiding in the first place. To make matters worse, he wasn’t feeling like himself. It was like he was getting sick, which was the cherry on top of this suck sundae. He never got sick. But lately he felt weird. His ears felt full of cotton, like he couldn’t hear anything, and though his nose wasn’t stuffy, he couldn’t seem to smell anything either. It was like someone had turned the dial down on all his senses. His balance was off. He was almost… clumsy. And weak. He was definitely weak. All his life he had to consciously reign himself in, but right now he doubted he’d even be able to open a jar of peanut butter without struggling. He had to get out of his stuffy motel room before he went crazy. There was a spooky old cemetery he had seen once in passing, so what better way to burn off some energy than go explore it? Mao loved cemeteries. He never found them scary. No, rather than uneasy, he always felt strangely invigorated when wandering among tombstones. The ground always seemed to buzz beneath his feet, he could imagine a crackling, lightning like current bouncing back and forth between him and the dead below, as if at any moment they might jump up out of their graves. He only need snap his fingers, and they’d come. Or, at least, that was his fantasy. He had probably seen Thriller one too many times. The disappointment he experienced, however, as he walked through the gates of Repose’s cemetery only to be met with a disturbing sense of emptiness was extreme. Bundled in an old oversized army jacket against the cold, he glared at the slabs of dark slate and crumbling marble as if betrayed. He felt absolutely nothing in this place. It was baffling. And frustrating. He stalked along the overgrown paths, kicking sullenly at leaves, waiting for something to happen. Just what he didn’t know. A tingle maybe, or sudden goosebumps… But, no. He got nothing. With a huff of disgust he gave up after an hour. The sun was sinking fast, and again Mao discovered yet another thing that was off about himself lately. Normally he could see very well in the dark, never once stubbed his toe on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But now the world seemed too dim and hazy, as if seen through a dirty glass, and it was only getting worse the lower the sun dipped under the horizon. Not wanting to walk through the whole cemetery to leave through the gate he entered from, Mao scaled a stone wall, making his own shortcut. It did not seem high to him, he had made jumps from far bigger heights, yet when he leapt down to the sidewalk below a sharp jolt ran up his shins through his ankles and his soles were left stinging. He let out a hiss and stumbled a little. He wasn’t hurt, just annoyed, and he vented by throwing back his head and shouting, “FUCK!!” with no concern as to the delicate sensibilities of anyone in listening distance. |