[Administrator] [Seth Monday]
Joined: 18 Mar 2008
[OoC] Sudden addiction to centering text? xD
Seth hated moving. He hated the monotony of walking up and down corridors he didn't
know. He hated the unfamiliarity of the building he was being forced to explore. He hated
the frightening possibility that he would never find his dormitory. He hated the funny
smell that the corridors had. He hated it all. The building itself begged to be hated,
what with it's gruesome history and sinister outer appearance. He was unnerved just being
there and wished he had more energy to hate it with.
But he was annoyingly exhausted. He felt awful, he wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up and
disappear. He wanted . . . well he didn't know what he wanted and that irritated him more.
Irritation that he didn't have the energy for. His arms ached from carrying his single
suitcase and he had only been walking for ten minutes or so and yet it was already driving
him crazy. He whimpered slightly and glanced around him desperately, as though expecting
Dorm Two to leap out of the ground. He was glad it didn't though, that would have been
He found it. And when he did, he hated the door for being closed. For being white.
Everything was white. White hurt his eyes. White was too clean. White would drive him
insane. His heart would have been beating faster if he wasn't so exhausted. He hardly had
enough energy to open the door. His hand was shaking slightly from exhaustion and had gone
a deadly pale colour. It would have panicked him if he hadn't been the same way for the
past three days. He closed his eyes, he hated feeling this drained, this miserable.
When he finally opened the door, he was so pleased, or as pleased as someone suffering
from depression can be, to find a bed that he didn't take in anything else in the room. He
dropped his suitcase in the doorway and, leaving the door open, dropped on the free bed
immediately. He was shaking all over now and for some reason, cold. It's the
whiteness he told himself. White is a cold colour. Cold. Cold was dead. He felt
He wrapped the duvet around his shoulders and shivered into it. It was then that Seth
noticed the other boy. He blinked at him. And he hated him for being there when all Seth
wanted was to sleep. He wanted to disappear again. He always wanted to disappear.
And yet he was oddly comforted by the other boys presence. It may have been that he had
run out of energy all together and couldn't find any means of which to care with. Or it
might have been that he was just there. Not interrupting, not doing anything, not
speaking. It was calming and Seth's view on the stranger changed suddenly to an irrational
fear that he would leave. Leave because Seth had hated him. But he was being stupid,
people couldn't hear his thoughts.
He whimpered again, drained of everything. He shifted his position so he was lying down.
He closed his eyes but had to open them again. He couldn't sleep, he could never sleep. He
could only lie there and choke on whatever it was that was doing this to him. He hated it.
He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. Why the fuck couldn't he sleep?
He couldn't answer that, no one could apparently. No one could cure him, no one could tell
him what was wrong. He couldn't tell them what was wrong. He couldn't. He never would. It
was completely out of his control.
[OoC] Crap ending, sorry. :|
x- Not That You Would Understand -x