All he had done today was stare at the ground, a settled state of agony peacefully whirring within him as his heart beat calmly within his chest. He honestly wished it would stop beating, but nothing ever goes according to plan, ever.
His head felt murky, not in a physical way, but in the way he couldn't comprehend the simplest of things. The way he couldn't find it within him to do a simple job – get up, maybe clean himself if he was feeling particularly okay. All he had, genuinely, done was think. Probably.
Of course, the notion of him thinking was also a difficult thing to grasp. It was the maybe that maybe he wasn't thinking either. Just sitting there in a messy room, which accumulated dirt by the day as everything within it grew layers of dust. The dirt dishes laid at the foot of his bed had also grown dusty, so much so that they seemed gray – if you were to brush a hand over it, dust would be left on your fingers.
And, he wasn't one to wonder about this. It was more the maybe.
Maybe his family would finally look for him in this godforsaken room of his.
Maybe... Yeah, no. That was all he wanted, at this point. Other than to die, but the latter was out of the point. Like, didn't everyone else want the same? A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as his eyes, lifeless as always, closed and he simply felt like sleeping again.
At this point, he would accept anyone's help.
---
It had been a few hours since his body, still as a corpse, had finally shook. Even if by a millimetre, he still moved. That could be considered exercise for someone as lifeless as him, couldn't it? Even still, he didn't move further beyond this. Maybe he'd shift under his bed a couple of times, maybe pull the sheets up to cover himself more but that was it.
And now for the big question. Why.
Why is a boy whose limbs are skinnier than probably a stick and whose cheeks were gaunt, sunken in almost as much as the dark circles around his eyes laying on a dirty, dishevelled bed in a room which seemed to have been ransacked by multiple people with different intentions. And most importantly, why did he have such a large gash along his cheek, deep enough to have been considered missing flesh had it not been for the other half of his face still on his head.
His hair, an impossibly bright yet dirty blond had grown past his shoulders and his eyes (it should have been of note that they had barely been completely open in the past days) a deep blue which seemed calmer yet somehow as mysterious as an ocean both matched perfectly. It had been a shame that his appearance should have been ruined like that, but one can't blame fate. It was probably his own fault anyways, given the fact that he was the one shutting himself in. It wasnt like he had been forced..
Still, if one were to ask – which they wouldn't – why this boy had not gotten up from his bed in atleast a few months, they would only be met with silence. As nobody had noticed, really. Except for the few whom he was close with, most simply didn't care after his appearance lost its charm. Pitiful it was his face that was affected the most.
Yet still, many questions went unanswered with him, really. Mainly since no one bothered to ask enough for him to wonder what the answer was to those, but still. He was pitiful enough that even The Overseer had spared a glance at him – a non calculating, non apathetic one. Of course, again, this story is not meant for Him to intervene in.
It was truly a wonder why this boy had chosen to suffer like this, and it didn't make sense either. Why had he chosen to rot like this, in the thought that he may die from malnourished before old age. That he may die before his favourite book gets released (not paying mind to the fact he had barely cared for this book anymore) and that he may never be able to scurry around a kitchen, frantically mixing ingredients in order to make a last minute gift to his closest friends (again, not paying mind to the fact he had barely thought of a next recipe to use in months; baking had lost its appeal).
And still, it wasn't until he finally heard a knock on his door that his now frail body had struggled to grab the handle. For excuses, his room felt large now, and he had to pay full mind not to step on anything scattered along the ground as well as keeping himself standing. It had been a while since he felt anything as solid below his feet. Maybe...
It was!
His mother had stood out of the door, her expression a mix of frustration and sadness as her eyes twitched and her frown, ever-present as it was, switched to something of the same kind yet different nature. Her head shook slightly and she took a deep breath, it was as if that break in her anger had never happened in the first place.
"You're going to school today. No buts." She said quickly, glaring down at him as her eyes drifted off to the large gash on his cheek briefly and returned to his eyes again. "Your outfit is hanging on the handle (with a coathanger), it's clean. Wear it." She added, not accepting any arguments and she left as soon as she arrived. So much for a first human interaction in more than a month.
But still, it was a chore of his, now something he was forced. Confusing how it only happened after more than a month rather than immediately but he wasn't one to complain. His eyes remained on the uniform, a brown theme which suited his hair and eyes, and he would probably look good in it had it nod been for the fact he was unattractive now. An emblem adorned the breast pocket, standing out completely as it was a bright neon blue, one you'd commonly see in a futuristic genre of comics, and a fierce red which both blended seamlessly in the middle into a purple which stood out.
He could feel his legs shake as he leaned on the door more than someone should have, unless they were older than the age of seventy (he was, in fact, not nearly as old) and he begrudgingly grabbed the hanger, dragging the uniform into his room.
It should have also been of note that there was no place to hang the piece of clothing, as well as the fact that he severely lacked both hygiene and health. It was normal for him to assume his own mother wouldn't force him into a school, where he'd most likely be bullied for this appearance, maybe even grouped with the so-called weird kids who were actually just normal people who weren't conventially attractive and didn't act according to social norms. Never mind the fact that he actually admired them quite a bit, but it was one thing to actually be a part of them.
His head shook and he simply threw the clothing on the bed. A single day would not be close enough to clean his room, so he might as well just make use of the cleanest place he could find and focus on making sure he doesn't look like he'll be doing a death rattle any second.