As Mortuus strode the desolate town roads with a hollow heart and heavy mind, the only sounds were trees blowing in the summer wind and his leather boots hitting the sidewalk with each powerful stride he took.
A loud cry for help broke the silence of the beautiful nighttime. Mortuus quickly ran towards it without hesitation, diving in front of a small boy and taking the deep slash of The Stitcher's claws as it attempted to slice the boy.
Mortuus stood up, the deep gash healing in seconds as he stood guarding the child. His hand on the child's, keeping them out of The Stitcher's reach and behind him.
"GO, KID!! IT ISN'T SAFE!!" Mortuus shouted, pulling his revolver from his pocket and firing at The Stitcher as he let go of his hand.
The Stitcher stumbled back to the ground, blackened blood spilling from the bullet wound with a nasty blood-filled growl. The boy ran over into his mother's arms, who cried, running away with the poor frightened child.
"You can hurt me! But leave those kids out of this!" Mortuus shouted, pulling his cannabis pen out and puffing on it. The Stitcher screeched in its beastly vocals. No matter how many times Mortuus heard it, that screech with its underlying human howls made his blood run cold.
The Stitcher grabbed Mortuus's head and lifted him into the air, claws digging into his eye sockets for grip. Gripping its arms, Mortuus kicked franticly as The Stitcher held him there. Blood poured steadily down his cheeks like red tears.
"Pitiful." The Stitcher uttered before pulling its arms apart, tearing Mortuus's skull in two. The first words he'd heard it speak, and it was insulting to him.
The Stitcher turned and walked off with Mortuus's blood dripping from its six-inch claws, leaving Mortuus's body to lay, half his skull beside him, gushing blood. The aroma of blood filled the air.
Blood-- What a familiar thing to smell.
Mortuus lay there in his blood, his mind fading into its torturous world. As he vanished inward, the ghostly image of a girl lay beside him, her eyes hollow and bleeding while a boy cried beside her. He could vaguely see a bullet hole in her stomach.
Mortuus sat up, the boy and girl wilting away into nothingness. He grabbed the other piece of skull, pressing it back into place. The piece made a wet squelch as fragments of the skull grabbed at each other and pulled at themselves, repairing. "Let's try this again," he whispered with a smile.
Mortuus twirled his revolver on his finger and threw it in the air.
"Running away again, huh?" Mortuus spun his leg around, kicking The Stitcher's back as he caught the revolver in his hand.
The Stitcher leaped up and slashed at Mortuus's arm, slicing it clean off. It ran, leaving Mortuus all alone, writhing in pain. It was a simple move, but all that was needed was to leave him in pain.
"YOU DIDN'T WINE AND DINE ME AFTER FUCKING ME UP, YOU BASTARD!!" Mortuus grabbed his arm, sticking it back on. The tendons snaking out and latching to each other like magnets to metal dust.
"THIS IS WHY YOU'RE SINGLE, YOU CUNT!!"
Mortuus searched for traces of The Stitcher for hours but ultimately came up empty-handed. His hope of finding The Stitcher dwindled with each passing minute. He roamed the streets, finding himself at an old swingset on a hill.
The tree gave a new meaning to a great oak. Its limbs were thick and plentiful, solid and sturdy. Some of the vast limbs seemed as wide as a truck. Mortuus knew there was something familiar about it. A worn and thin rope held the decrepit swing loosely on the side. The wooden seat of the swing was knotty and splinter-ridden.
But what was so familiar about this swing? A little girl's laughter rang out. The sound sent Mortuus into an uncontrollable fit of pain. He fell to his knees and gripped his head, screaming in pain as memories flashed in his mind.
Mortuus tugged at his thick black hair as he stumbled back into the tree's trunk, a memory flashing through his mind. Through the fogginess, he could make out the image of a small girl and boy laughing as they sat on a hillside swing.
The memory played on, the children fading into white shadows on the black walls of Mortuus's fractured mind. Mortuus staggered backward, sitting against the oak, still holding his head in agony. Now shaking and rocking himself, the girl from the memories laughs, growing louder and louder as the boy vanished altogether.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!! YOU AREN'T REAL!!" He screamed at the dancing figures. Mortuus franticly reached into his breast pocket, fumbling as he pulled a knife out. His bandaged face was visible in the knife's shining blade.
Impassively, he plunged the knife into his pterion, the memory falling silent and fading as a steady stream of blood dripped down the blade. He sighed with relief as the memories all fell to silence, and he once again was left sitting on the hill with chirping crickets and hissing cicadas.
Mortuus stood up with the knife still in his head and walked away as though nothing had happened. The fresh blood was still dripping down the side of his head.
Again, the mysterious voice from earlier spoke to him, "Why do you hate yourself but care for others? Dr. Mallard gave you a second chance."
"Because my head hurts me more than any wound. I don't hate myself; I hate who I've become without my knowledge." Mortuus sighed with exasperation as he continued, "My past is watery, and my future is sinking." He murmured, removing the knife and unwrapping a cloth with his cannabis pen in it. He sighed as he puffed on the pen.
The voice seemed to follow him as he could hear soft footsteps behind him, but every time he turned, there was nothing—just an empty road and emptier sidewalks, with maybe an occasional bottle rolling across the street.
40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRS1Lo3KRRY
