You are currently in a dimly lit hospital room, bright white light creeping under the doorway. A beeping sound can be heard beside you. Calmly contemplating, breathing slowly.
You can't remember why you're here, why there is a stinging pain in your eye, your mouth is dry, You look over to your hand and see an IV in your middle finger. Exhausted... that's the only word that can describe how you feel.
[You're useless... it hurts, doesn't it? You could've easily given up, finally could have indulged in the darkness. Forgetting everything, including the pain of it all. Pain... an unforgivable feeling. I hate it, I hate myself, I hate this body. I hate the air you breathe, I hate the taste of copper filling your mouth, I hate your eyes. You always look dead, you've always looked dead! Your parents knew this, its why they left you! They knew they'd die! THEY ACCEPTED IT! YOU SHOULD'VE TOO!]
You decide to stand up and head to the restroom. Turning on the light, you can see yourself in the mirror.
You are a young boy, around ten to twelve years old. Sapphire eyes, long black hair, a feminine face, and an eyepatch wrapped around your left eye. There is some visible bruising creeping out from behind the patch. Your thin hands grasping desperately on the IV drip stand, using it to hold yourself up.
/Are you happy?/
"No..."
/Why aren't you happy?/
"Because my family is dead."
/Why aren't you happy about that?/
"Because I loved them."
/Do you not anymore?/
"I still love them."
/Why do you love them?/
"Because they're my family."
/Why would you love your family?/
[You are unusual. I have no clue why you can think like this. You're just a kid. You really are a fucking failure.]
"Because..." You take time to contemplate why its the case. It's obvious to you though but it really is best for you to rationalize it and properly put it into words. You probably don't actually understand why or have forgotten why. "It's because I grew to have compassion for them, or have always had compassion for them because they took care of me ever since I was little. I feel happy around them and I feel worried for them."
/Would that be considered love?/
"Would it?"
/Did you ever love them?/
"No..."
/You aren't sad because they were family! Its because you lost the ones who provided for you. You don't know how to do that, provide for yourself. You are stressed because you don't know what to do after this. You want to live and you don't know how to live without them./
"I..."
/I'm right aren't I?/
"You are... but. I..."
/Why? Why wouldn't any of this be a good thing then? Well, frankly its sort of bad, but your parents being dead means that their use has run out. Including your brother of course. Gone with his brain, mixed with powder and blood, pink br-/
"Shut..."
/Do you not enjoy the thought? The mysterious feeling that is death?/
"I don't want it... I just want to go home."