hell has broken free tonight (oversexed) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2016-06-27 22:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 039, damon, edwin |
Unsettled
Who: Damon and Edwin
Where: Damon's room
When: late morning
Damon had no idea what time it was. The power was still off, it was still storming and there was no light in the sky at all. It was possible that he'd spent too much time by himself the past couple of days-- without the benefit of voyeuristic participation in others' lives through the cameras-- and he wasn't quite sure what was real. Normally his grasp on reality was good even when strange things happened around him; maybe he was still unsettled by the waking dream he'd had where the bars of his own prison had grown up around him and dirt had formed beneath him and he was left with nothing but his own company forever. As a child, he'd seen a show about how once upon a time, people were jailed in holes in the ground, and that had stuck with him given his hatred at the very thought of being confined and helpless.
Ever since he'd awakened early to go to the bathroom, things hadn't been good. He'd taken the flashlight he'd packed in his suitcase with him so he could see what the hell he was doing, and when he'd set it down in front of the mirror to wash his hands afterward, he'd seen something red. It had looked as though blood was gushing from his nose and his eyes, even though he hadn't felt a thing. It had coated his bare chest in rivulets, but when he'd put his hand to it and lifted it to his face, there'd been nothing.
It wasn't even that he minded blood. It had simply been eerie.
Back in bed, he'd fallen back to sleep for a short while even though he was sure he'd heard voices. They were being fucked with. That had to be it, and intellectually he knew it. However, that wasn't so easy to tell himself once he saw the bugs. Living with roaches wasn't something a person ever forgot, and that experience was a great deal of the reason why Damon was such a clean freak as an adult. Countless times as a kid he'd awakened at night to knock the skittering, crawly things off of him. When he'd been ten or eleven he'd fashioned a mask of sorts out of mesh to put over his head at night so at least he'd know they wouldn't crawl into his mouth, nose, ears.
After he'd been up for a short while, in the light of the flashlight and a couple of candles that were on the desk in his room, he'd seen movement out of the corner of his eye. Roaches, crawling on the dresser mirror. Or were they just beneath the glass? It was impossible to tell. He had his door open for any possibility of ambient light that might come through, but he didn't think about possibly disturbing anyone as he grabbed the statue on the mantel that looked like a giant chess piece and approached the mirror. "I'll get you, motherfucker," he mumbled as he hefted it and slammed the blunt end of it against the glass, producing a thudding sound.