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Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts
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Explicit depiction of sexual acts.
Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Depiction of severe mistreatment of children
Depiction of self-harm
Depiction of suicide
Depiction of torture
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After the first day of confinement, the doctor says that I might be here for a while, and that I should bring in some things to make me comfortable. I bring a shark plushie, a tiny cow plushie, and some pillows and blankets. The shark plushie remains in the bag, the tiny cow plushie is placed on my side, and the pillows and blankets become part of me after a few days.
After the third day of confinement, the doctor hooks me up to an IV drip and says it'll be with me for a few weeks. I am pretty scared; after all, I sleep on my right side a lot, but the doctor says it won't be much of a hassle. For the next few days I did not sleep well. Now I know how to sleep on my back.
After the second week of confinement, the doctor says that I should eat more, since that makes the medication work faster and I can be let go in under a month. I haven't been eating more, since most of the food I eat makes me violently ill, and the food I do eat comes out of my ass as oceans of brown, sometimes I see even red and crimson come out, but I nod and say to my doctor that I will eat more. I don't. I just don't have the energy.
There's a time when I woke up and… nothing. No pain, no suffering. I do all the things you do to check whether you're in a dream — I poke myself, check the words on the walls, etc., and still, nothing. I call the caretaker to walk me to the bathroom, angels sing on the walls, the halo of God descends upon me to bless my life, saints kneel on my feet as I carefully walk, I stub my toe on a table, my nails bleed a bit, that familiar pain comes back, and I am back to suffering.
Afer the third week of confinement, the dry cold of the hospital room I am in burns my nostrils, imprinting the deep chill of winter in my exposed bones, while the gradual drip of snot and nose fluid slowly freeze and chill around my nose. I feel each crystal slowly grow in my cavities, and it's bad enough that I request for the temperature of the air conditioner to be lowered. I am told the air conditioning is centralized, and they cover the air conditioner in a blanket instead. The cold still burns my nose.
After consulting with the doctor, they say that there is an experimental regimen I can take such that I can be let go in under a year. I accept the offer. Nothing really changes.
There's this one time where I woke up, and my skin is melting under the covers, each drip of my flesh slowly turns the bed into a deep, deep red, the rough texture of its cloth further aggravating the bleeding, yet my face was freezing outside, and the blanket-covered air conditioner does nothing to help me out here, so I call for the nurse to help me cool down, yet no one comes, and my new caretaker is deep in their dreams, so I sit there, burning inside, freezing outside. I promptly request for a thinner blanket next time, and a hoodie.
After the second year of confinement, multiple people come to have a Halloween party in my room. We have a lot of fun! It's a shame they have to see me like… this, but I dress as a skeleton (ha, ha), and one guy dressed himself in one of those slutty Roman gladiator outfits — my friends told me that since I barely go out as is, they decided to use this time to introduce me to other people they've met; out of all of them, he was the only one that talks to me and he is a bit of a cutie, not going to lie. My friends tell me his name is Richard.
We were having a lot of fun.
We had to end the event early because the gummy bear I ate completely disintegrated my flesh into a pile of squib and blood, caking each costume in my fluids as my muscles contract and scream in pain.
There's this one time where I wake up to intense stomach aches, rolling waves of pain while I sit there curled up and freezing, again (the air conditioner broke). I call for the nurse, and they gave me an injection of… something. The rolling pains stop, then comes back with a vengance. Sharp, stabbing needles of rough bone pierce and chafe my stomach, I try to vomit but my heart and bones threaten to stop and break from the forced vomiting I try to do. I ask to be sent to the bathroom, and I was, but nothing comes out. I go back to the bed, and went to dreamland.
After the waves of stomach pain, I wake up to feeling nothing. My new caretaker said I remained asleep for the whole time. Afraid that I am suffering from something again, I bit on my lips till they chapped and bled, each tiny lip flesh making me feel safe.
I'm scared.
What if this pain goes away?
After the third year of confinement, a few people come to have a Halloween party in my room. We have a lot of fun! It's a shame that some of my bones are exposed, but I wear the same skeleton costume I have been wearing, and Richard dresses in one of those slutty nurse outfits — he's really into the roleplay, asking me to call him Dick.
We are having a lot of fun, and it's an enjoyable time, despite the IV in me shocking me with pain every time I touched it. Dick approaches me, and we talk about how much more time I will spend in this hospital. He's a pretty good guy, and he's really into gaming and sports and drinking. I mostly spend the party talking to him, each word from his mouth feeding me hope and warmth. I bring up that maybe after this year, I might be able to go out now, and he winks at me and says that the both of us should go shopping. I don't know what he means by that, but I accept the offer and continue talking about stuff.
We have to end the event early, though — who knew dripping flesh flowing down the IV, coating each object it touched with a smooth sheen of red doesn't mix well with electronics.
Have I ever told you that my ears ring with the fury of a thousand suns now? It's just a thing. Did it come from the shells or from the screams or from the disease? Who knows, all I know is that it's another thing to manage. Oh, and the doctor says that after another battery of medication, I can be free.
After the fifth year of confinement, nurses and doctors still havn't found a way to stop the flesh from growing. I keep seeing a new caretaker each year (none seem to remain, curiously enough), and doctors are trying to find a way to stop the flesh from growing. I want to eat beef again.
There's a time where I brush my teeth so hard they bled. The doctors have to remove my gums for a quick clean before they reinsert it again. This extends my stay, again. I am weirdly happy about this news.
After the sixth year of confinement, me and Dick plan for this to be the last Halloween party we hold in the hospital; I wasn't a fan of Halloween anyway, and I need some fresh air. While the nurse and caretaker aren't looking, Dick — wearing that same slutty Roman gladiator outfit — and I, wearing a robe and nothing else, dripping with flesh and grime and shit, sneak out and run around the hospital. My bones, poking out, cold to the touch and stabbing me every time I touch anything, being held by his warm and large comforting hands.
We go up and down and up and down the stairs, weaving and hiding and sneaking from each doctor and nurse and janitor we find, until we reach the graveyard. Under the white light of the moon, the spooky trees send their strongest cold breeze to freeze my bones and it sends me shivering. Dick pulls me in, my dripping body staining his white underwear (he never really stopped wearing those after I commented on it during the first year), his warm body calming my spirit and warming up those seven bloody years of confinement, his warm stomach killing the cold clinical chill of the hospital, the growing thing in his pockets feeding my thirst and hunger for something. I pull away for a bit, insisting I was unclean, I was unworthy, but he pulls me in, and his bear hug tells me that it's going to be all right, it's going to me all right.
I wrap my bony hands around Dick, pushing myself further and further till I hear a pop, and although it's sloppy, although it's dangerous, although the crimson and golden and pearly fluids run down and around him and me, although it's scary and it's my first time, he guides me, he makes me feel whole, we mix together for a while, the grass mixing with the fluids as the gravestones are left with our presence, minor sharp stabs of pain overcome by rolling waves of pleasure while I come to him — it's the best thing that happened to me.
The next morning, we try to sneak in back to my room, but we were caught and he's quarantined for a few days.
Dick never visits me every day after that, but he occasionally brings roses.
I get it; he has work to do.
After the seventh year of confinement, Halloween rolls around and the doctor says maybe after a year I can leave — I will have to undergo another surgery, but at this point? I'll take anything that will take the pain away… or do I just like the idea of surgery bringing in more pain?
On the eighth year of confinement, I look around the hospital room. I see the various flowers, greeting cards, love and affection, free food and drinks, unconditional love, pain and suffering, the change that will happen when I leave this room, the life I will have to readjust to, the time to do all of that, the energy to do all that, the effort to readjust, the social interactions I will have to relearn when I go back, the changes that will happen when I step out of the room.
I see a shadowy figure near my bed.
Oh, sorry, what I mean is I see myself on the mirror under the dark light of the room. I see my normal self, without pain, without suffering, without something that makes me who I am in the mirror.
I'm scared.
I grab the nearest heavy object.
I look at my unbroken leg.
I wince a bit, then explosions of pure pleasure bring me to my knees with a slowly growing pool of red below me, along with the rough bone chafing against my skin as I keep giving myself intense pleasure, as the bones crack and splinter and bleed all over me, as I yell and cry for help as I break even more bones, each crack sending me to my knees, each crack making me scream in pleasure and moan in pain.
I'm scared.
I'm afraid.
I'm happy.
I'm okay.
It's just one more thing to deal with, that's all
As long as nothing changes.

rating: +31+–x