(This Victim One-Shot will have some disturbing themes. Reader discretion is advised.) =========== I’ve been searching for revenge for longer than most of my workers think. What some might deem, a harmless cursor is a monster. Not only did he smile at my demises, but he refused to let me fight back his torture. It always will leave a mark in my brain. While everything else might be fuzzy, painless and numb, the scars on my body and on my mental health are permanent and always linger around. Ballista runs up to me, he always seems so happy and joyful. I wish I could’ve gotten a life like that, but it’s too late now. “Heya, Boss! You’ve made a staggering achievement! A month gone without overdosing!” Of course he had to bring that up. I just feel like nothing can really fix how broken I am, unless done in heavy amounts. While overdosing might’ve given me hours of vomiting and crying, it was worth the small happiness it gave me. “I suppose that’s good. The one pill a day thing might’ve helped me… thanks, Ballista.” Yet, I put another facade over me. I have layers of fake cheerfulness, layers of emotions to hide how I really feel. I always have to resist the urge to take more than what I need, at least at work. I don’t really eat either, the feeling of swallowing sometimes feels weird. Voidsickness also makes it harder… “It is good, Boss! You’ve been a lot more mentally stable! Keep it up, Boss! Maybe you’ll reach two months soon!” I chuckle as he left back to his duties. He seems so cheerful, something I can’t achieve. Flashing imagery of what happened back then always tickles my brain, making me focus on that and trying to fight back tears and making the rest of the world numb and unfocused, it feels normal to me. Seeing the time, I decide to return to my apartment. Driving there while listening to my liminal playlist. It feels so connected to me, like it was clinging onto me for support. But I don’t know much about this “affection” thing, and I feel as if it’s false. Why am I so weak and unwanted in this world? I was only meant to be killed… but I know how to fulfill the emptiness of it, even if it seems to be impossible. I unlock the door to my apartment and sigh, turning the light switch on. While the place is pretty nice, for someone like me, it always gives off a sense of isolation. I live alone, all because nobody would ever like me enough to even be in my apartment, they wouldn’t have the guts to. But that’s alright, I guess. Being isolated from everyone else can feel nice sometimes. Luckily, Ballista isn’t here either. I’ve sort of grown used to chugging my medicine, treating it like candy. I take off my tie and placed it at my dinner table. The apartment was required to have one, even if I don’t eat. I’m surprised I’m not just pure skin and bones, and still have some weight on me. Sure, it’s severely underweight but it is what it is. Even if it has been years since I’ve last seen him, I’m always reminded of the cursor and his human. I believe his name was Alan… my mind would always trigger flashbacks, or even hallucinations to trick myself into thinking he’s with me… waiting for me to let my guard down to finally finish the torture he started. I finished my shower, and looked myself in the mirror. I always give myself a panic attack like this. I usually hide my scars with a gray fountain, it’s really good and blends will with my skin. However, this means I can’t do anything that can reveal it, at least when others are around. Even if it has been 18 years since I’ve gotten these scars, they are still bloody and stinging. They’re basically showing how weak I am. The guy I captured… The Chosen One, was it? He had some scars on him when I first captured him, and a mark on his ankle, otherwise he was perfect. No scar that revealed two of his ribs, no scars over his two eyes, just some scars and bruises. How lucky is he? Not much, probably, as we share the same creator. But I find it unfair that he’s in better shape than myself. He’s sort of unique, I guess. While I’ll never admit it, he’s got everything better than me. How could he ever forgive Alan?! Does he not remember how he treated him?! While I was trying to get him to talk, he just refused and said I would needed to forgive him, too. But I will never do that. Because, sometimes some scars are too painful to forget, and the person who gave them is too heinous to forgive. I’m just too tired to handle this… The safety of my room, I love it. Even if it’s just a blowup bed with a blue blanket, and a mirror, with the rest being empty, I’m pretty happy. Luckily I didn’t take too much antidepressants, otherwise I’ve would’ve been high as a kite. I look at myself in the mirror. I look so stupid, so weak, so pathetic! I’m just unwanted and useless, what’s my point besides being some puppet?! And again, the way I treated that Chosen guy… was it even necessary?! Am I becoming the monster myself?! No, I can’t deal with this now! (REST IN N&C)
I quickly got in my blowup bed, tucking myself in. My wings also gave me extra support as I cried myself to sleep. I’ll get my revenge somehow, I need it so badly… =========== Show, don’t tell. =========== Songs are not owned by me! Some stupid one-shot thing that shows my HC of Victim Written in an hour. “Sometimes some scars are too painful to forget, and the person who gave them is too heinous to forgive.” -Victim
