Nothing seems out of place here... well. Unless one looks into the tub where there's a spot of red near the drain along with the set of pinchers.
And, of course, the memory that follows.
Battler sits in the tub. It's empty. There's no point putting on the water because he hasn't made his decision yet. He's actually not thinking at all, really, numb and staring at the porcelain of the tub. There's the memory of the witches and their laughter, their "generosity"--they didn't make it completely hopeless for him, being stuck in this hell. They left him one way out if he couldn't figure out anything else on is own.
He's tried everything. He can't think of anything else. He doesn't... want to think anymore. He's tired, lonely, scared of this continuing to be how it is day after day again and again. Lambdadelta tried to warn him. She told him how it would be like and he still thought he could handle it because... there was a reason for it... right?
His eyes drift to the drain and the pinchers. Hand reaches for the tool--but then he freezes, breath catching in his throat. He trembles, and the tears well up along with the bitter despair. The room likes to put itself back into order, clean and unbroken even though he's torn it down to studs again and again--the bathroom is the same. But... but still...
Why is there already flesh and blood on the mouth of those pinchers?
The answer's immediate and obvious and he can't he can't there's absolutely no memory of it--how many times has it been, then?! The question has him curling in on himself, hands going to his head, over his ears, fingers pulling at his hair as he grits his teeth and cries, sobs, tries not to scream but what's the point in holding those back, there's no one here there's no one here.
The witches' laughter echoes in the bathroom, mocking words and sadistic grins egging him on. See, seeeee? Just turn on the water, start pinch, pinching away! Little by little! And maybe, we'll retrieve your hand when you're done! They laugh and their laughter distorts, start to sound like cries--or that's him, laying in the tub, screaming and crying and pleading to no one to anyone. He doesn't want to he doesn't want to so someone ANYONE, PLEASE, PLEASE, WHAT HAS HE DONE? WHAT CRIME DID HE COMMIT? HASN'T HE SERVED HIS TIME, THEN? JUST HOW BAD WAS IT? IS IT SO WRONG?
ALL HE WANTED... ALL HE WANTED WAS...!
The thought stops there. There's no more thinking.
There's also just you in the bathroom. The sound of dripping faucet and the water going down into the deep, dark drain.
Re: Catbox
And, of course, the memory that follows.
Battler sits in the tub. It's empty. There's no point putting on the water because he hasn't made his decision yet. He's actually not thinking at all, really, numb and staring at the porcelain of the tub. There's the memory of the witches and their laughter, their "generosity"--they didn't make it completely hopeless for him, being stuck in this hell. They left him one way out if he couldn't figure out anything else on is own.
He's tried everything. He can't think of anything else. He doesn't... want to think anymore. He's tired, lonely, scared of this continuing to be how it is day after day again and again. Lambdadelta tried to warn him. She told him how it would be like and he still thought he could handle it because... there was a reason for it... right?
His eyes drift to the drain and the pinchers. Hand reaches for the tool--but then he freezes, breath catching in his throat. He trembles, and the tears well up along with the bitter despair. The room likes to put itself back into order, clean and unbroken even though he's torn it down to studs again and again--the bathroom is the same. But... but still...
Why is there already flesh and blood on the mouth of those pinchers?
The answer's immediate and obvious and he can't he can't there's absolutely no memory of it--how many times has it been, then?! The question has him curling in on himself, hands going to his head, over his ears, fingers pulling at his hair as he grits his teeth and cries, sobs, tries not to scream but what's the point in holding those back, there's no one here there's no one here.
The witches' laughter echoes in the bathroom, mocking words and sadistic grins egging him on. See, seeeee? Just turn on the water, start pinch, pinching away! Little by little! And maybe, we'll retrieve your hand when you're done! They laugh and their laughter distorts, start to sound like cries--or that's him, laying in the tub, screaming and crying and pleading to no one to anyone. He doesn't want to he doesn't want to so someone ANYONE, PLEASE, PLEASE, WHAT HAS HE DONE? WHAT CRIME DID HE COMMIT? HASN'T HE SERVED HIS TIME, THEN? JUST HOW BAD WAS IT? IS IT SO WRONG?
ALL HE WANTED... ALL HE WANTED WAS...!
The thought stops there. There's no more thinking.
There's also just you in the bathroom. The sound of dripping faucet and the water going down into the deep, dark drain.