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life is like a box of chocolates (i only made it for you)

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He wonders how he got here.

He didn’t remember much, only that he woke up after what felt like months of darkness, and he was in a white room with a single bed and blue lights. Like some kind of sick mental hospital.

There was that familiar white noise, sounding like a refrigerator, that he would notice when he tried to listen. At first, comparing it to something at home brought him comfort.

After awhile, it became a reminder of something he never quite had, really. A home.

And it became annoying.

Tap, tap

He would hear tapping sometimes, he didn’t know where from. It creeped him out, it was always so silent. His bed was soft like the tapping, the white sheets as clean as his golden locks that he doesn’t remember cleaning, but they shine in a way that doesn’t look very greasy.

His memories weren’t in order. He remembers getting thrown around by his dad, and then burning and hurting so, so bad in a sauna. Then he remembers his mom, and for a brief second he was once almost convinced he was young again, at the beach.

Tap, tap

He’s stopped trying to remember, his mind gets more and more empty every time he wakes up, feeling strangely replenished and smelling of pineapples.

When he first woke up, he broke down crying, he threw up on the floor, he remembers remembering something , but he doesn’t remember what that something is. He’d slammed the walls, trying to find a way out, tried to kill himself on the edge of his bed but it was far too soft.

And when he woke up the next day, his vomit was gone and the room was sparkly clean. And his hair smelled like pomegranate, that day.

The first few wake ups, he always threw a fit and would hit things and try to remember things that for some reason he just couldn’t and eventually, he forgot what his hair color was and that his hands were his. And he calmed down.

But it didn’t feel like his body.

Nothing ever happened.

Tap, tap

He’d regain some of his humanity by smelling his hair. Some days, it smelled like cranberries, which made him think of that one pancake his sister (what was her name again?) brought home and forgot on the counter, that he later stole and ate for himself. Sometimes, it smells like.. well. He can’t quite put his finger on it, the name’s on the tip of his tongue but it smells raw. Like nature. And that made him think of a forest, with pretty birds of various colors and sometimes the smell would be a bit fancy and velvet-y and it would make him think of a man who used to snarl at him and push him around in his house. Smelled like roses. He didn’t like that smell.

He thought that was his dad, it made him feel angry, but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember.

One time, though, it smelled like cherry, which reminded him of, strangely enough, lips. Cherry colored lips. Like, not really particularly feminine lips. Like the lips on a pretty boy, and he doesn’t remember this boy’s name, but he remembers how he looked, and smelled. And he smelled like cherries sometimes, but sometimes he smelled like roses too, and it made the bad smell all the more tolerable. He had brown swooped hair, like the tip of a sundae in the way it gathered at the tip and flopped in front of his face. It was a cute style, he thought.

In his memories, the boy’s never really smiling though. If he is, he’s smiling at somebody else. He wishes he could remember his name, but he only knows he’s pretty.

Is he pretty?

Tap, tap

He woke up again, frightened awake by the sound of screeching outside the door. He’s used to hearing loud noises sometimes, he’s counted his wakings but he lost it at 43. They always happened every 5 to 8 waking, but he had to count twice. He kept forgetting.

The screeching sounded like chalk on a board, and he covered his ears. It made him growl, he felt primal, he felt angry.

He didn’t try walking around or working out, he just went back to sleep.


He heard a radio in his head, sounding like it was reversed. But he heard whispers.

I could get you out.

Listen to me.

Wake up.

Wake up.

The whisper turned into a voice, of a girl.

Like.. like a little girl.

“Wake up, Billy.”

He jolted up and right as he did, he heard his door slam and practically shat himself.

The door was open.

Is my name Billy?

Who was that?

What were they doing?

Thoughts shuffled in his head, and he wondered above all who the girl was.

And maybe, if he’d see her again.

His hair smelled like roses.

After that waking, he began to wake up more frequently. The girl didn’t return but he felt so assured by hearing someone else's voice that he realized he was really going insane.

He needed to get out.

And with each waking, he felt like he was getting closer to.. something.

He would wake up, and he’d hear the door slam. Now there would never come a waking where the door wasn’t open for at least a second. He saw the silhouette of somebody once, but he couldn’t move, and it was only for a millisecond before the door slammed and locked again.

He practiced managing his sleep by taking power naps, but considered trying to stay up for as long as he could.

Strangely, however, he heard the white noise louder whenever he would try that, and then he’d find himself falling into a longer slumber.

The tapping’s a lot fainter now, he’s learned to tune it out.

But this waking, he chose to listen again. Maybe he could figure out where he was if he just listened for a fucking second you fucking mistake you-

Tap, tap

The next waking, the door slammed again, but he had more control over his body this time and managed to get up to the door and peek before it shut. There was a hallway, but there were more doors. And people. Lots of people.

His anxiety returned, and he had never felt so fucking alive.

It was his second time smelling like cherry, and he wondered if the pretty boy knew his name.

Later, he dreamt and saw the pretty boy again. Looked so happy.

But the pretty boy wasn’t smiling at him.

What were the colors of his eyes again?


When Billy (he was sure that was his name) jolted awake, he heard a door open and thought this was it, I’m either free or dead and either way I’m happy, but found, to his disappointment and unsurprisingly, his door was still closed.

The tapping was loud and frantic and cut off by the noise. Billy heard a scream in the hallway, and his breath caught as he realized he wasn’t alone. There were others.

He heard begs, it sounded young, like a boy’s, and his gut wrenched.

He didn’t know he’d eaten, but whatever it was that he was possibly fed, he threw right out onto the floor.

When he looked at his hands, he freaked out. He forgot they were his again, and couldn’t breathe.

He fainted and he saw the pretty boy again.