The Beauty of The Abyss [Private//Famine]

Dust. The smell of dust was all that was present. It had been a silent day, Ahote tucked away at his room for days, hours, weeks, motionless - still. Thinking. Listening. His eyes had been half open, empty and dead. His body, weak. Recovering, but weak. His mind fragile, but filled with thoughts. Would he ever get to indulge in the pleasure of knitting and cooking? Would he ever get to feel the softness of skin with both palms again? Was he spoiled for taking his body for granted? It didn't matter now... all Ahote was thinking about was what he said and did when Famine carried him to his room. "LET ME GO! Let me go!! I don't want to die! LET ME GO! MOMM-... FAMINE!"

Each time he heard his words ring in his ears, his chest cramped. It felt like he was suffocating on his regret. It had been two weeks and three days since his amputation. All he remembered was the loss of breath he had from screaming. How dry his throat was. His finger wilting away before his eyes before everything cut to black. But then he woke up in bloodied sheets and the smell of burnt human flesh and chemicals. All he saw on his body was a bloody stub on his left arm, bandages tightly wrapped around it. When he first saw it, he panicked again, but said nothing. Just short, compulsive sobs and gasps before he fainted again.

But he hadn't said a word for nearly four days. He only made subtle body signs that he needed water or food. But he only ate when people weren't watching, he ignored visitors and wept silently at random. That was all he could do. He put all of his energy in his self-hatred instead of moving his mouth, communicating. He prioritized embracing his regret instead of eating.

But today was different. Out of all he people he wished to set his dead eyes on, it was Famine. He had to apologize... true, he felt the way he felt and he still feels it. Any child would not be comfortable being surrounded by murderers.. but even so... he couldn't be predjudiced. His view on them, specifically the 'Mistress', was more than a criminal. More than a bloody murderer. He saw love and feeling and emotion, anger and worry, sadness and happiness... all over him. They devoted their time and affection to this young boy, with no significance...

Ahote looked over to the stool next to his bed. His cup of water was empty, and he died of thirst... the red apple that fell on the floor was clearly in reach, but it had been there for six hours and ants had crawled over it. Ahote didn't have the energy to reach down and get it. His bed sheets had been changed several times due to him using the restroom on himself. He had no energy to relieve himself in the appropriate place. He was dead to most people. Ahote had died even to him. But what was keeping him going? This undying will to meet eyes with her again?

Ahote stared silently at the door, hoping that Famine would come in due time.

AND NOW ITS ENDING IN MY RESURRECTION

As if someone has answered his calls, the doors to his bedroom crept open. Who would it be this time? Would anyone even care to visit him? He had ignored nearly every person who had walked inside, so he wouldn’t be too surprised if no one came anymore after all of his ignoring. The thought made Ahote tense up. What if no one cared anymore? What if Kanix wasn’t looking for him anymore? Did his Father even known he existed anymore? What about Fairy Tail, did they even notice that he went missing? No one cared about him, no one loved him. No one wanted him.

But then suddenly, like magic, Famine appeared. His mother. Someone who did love him, who did care about him, who did want him. But when no one else came, she did. The murderer. But, also, his knight in shining armor. His wide, dead, orange eyes gazed at Famine, his very expression and presence enigmatic. But at the sight and smell of his meal, he could feel his stomach twist over itself a thousand times over. He swallowed his spit, feeling the dryness of his throat make him sore.

“M...om...my..” The word he always used for Famine returned to his mouth, but his anxiousness remained. His expression was still dead, no emotion was shown, besides struggle to speak. Instantly after he spoke, he panted lightly, coughing. The scent of the broth made his mouth feel like watering, but he was too dehydrated to muster up anything. “I… I’m… sorry…” He coughed and wheezed, reaching out his good arm to the space above. He couldn’t move it past his chest, he couldn’t even raise his body to drink the broth. He was just too weak. He would always be weak, and forgotten…

Except, maybe that is not the case with the woman in front of him?

AND NOW ITS ENDING IN MY RESURRECTION