This is dead but I'm bringing it back because I'm bored and I wanna share some of my favorite bits from my story that I'm desperate to share with the world
TW: blood, attempted murder, freezing to death/hypothermia, and descriptions of violence
Felix walked to work. It was a new habit, brought on by the new need for a smoke in the morning. He stowed his guilt away with his lighter as the smoke hit his throat. It may have been an irresponsible use of an already tight budget, but he dealt with it by not thinking about it. He’d yet to be caught smoking by anyone who’d be angry, and the excuses felt a lot nicer than the truth.
He looked out the window as Steven reluctantly got back into bed, the setting sun hidden behind the clouds, staining them an ugly greyish orange. He pictured Benji, out there, alone, and his heart ached.
Or was he alone? Suddenly the mental image of his brother huddled under a tree had a shadow cast over it. Benji’s eyes peeked through his fingers as he stared up at the person in fright. His red sleeved shirt seemed redder, and there was a dark pool spreading around him. Would he be attacked with a knife? As if a picture was being painted by an artist as Felix focused on it, Benji’s skin began to split, blood splattering from cuts that hadn’t been there a second ago.
Or maybe the murderer preferred a blunt weapon. Bruises formed under the cuts, green and purple and no matter how Benji curled into himself, the bones were breaking, and now his eyes were stained pink, flicking away from the shadow and looking at Felix with a silent, desperate plea.
Felix staggered back in horror, almost falling as his hand caught the bedside table. The feeling of smooth polished wood under his fingers reminded him where he was, and he blinked. The sky would only darken. And every second he stood still was another second Benji was in danger.
At least he’d left the wind behind in the bog. Now trees loomed up all around him like the bones of a hollow rib cage, and the air was still, though the cold didn’t go away. He looked down at his hands, and they were bone-white. He tried to move his fingers, but they seemed disconnected from his body, refusing to do as he asked.
That's fine, he decided.
He was woken by a car’s engine, rumbling down the road. For a minute he was confused, but then lights passed over the log he huddled behind. He watched the trees in front of him brighten, the fog pooling from his lips outlined in gold as it curled away. Memories came back in bits and pieces. The killer. The bog. The truck.
He found me.