Setting: Projector Room.
Time: Night 11.
Summary: Post-experiment trauma.
Warnings: The usual P4 spoilers and language. And uegherhg emo.
How do you describe blindness? Are you even supposed to? Everyone knows what it is. Almost no one knows what it feels like.
Maybe, if his mind wasn't so numb, he would call it surreal. Surreal to know that something's there--but to you, there's only nothing.
His face was smeared with blood. Blood, sweat. Maybe tears. Actually, he didn't even know. He couldn't even tell. He couldn't see. All he could do was feel--and, even now, he was too numb for that.
Adachi of the face smeared with blood, sweat, or tears was sitting--collapsed against the lovely, marble wall of the room with the stained, hardwood floor that he didn't even know about. The only difference to him--the only thing that let him know that this place was not like any other--was that it was the one place in this entire goddamn house where it was quiet. Where everything and everyone just shut the fuck up.
His back was propped against the wall, his legs pulled up towards his chest. He clenched his knees with his hands, his knuckles oh, so white. And in this room where there was no sound of construction, there was only the ringing in his ears and the train wreck of his thoughts.
And after a pause, he brought his head down to his knees and clutched his hair with his hands.
It didn't even matter anymore. Everything he had worked for didn't matter anymore. Everything that he did because it was fun--everything he did because he had nothing better to do out in the sticks--it didn't even matter. Keep the world as it fucking was! Screw change! I don't give a damn anymore--you guys win now get me out! If it meant getting out, those fucks could keep their shitty world! And he wouldn't even care! I just--(I don't want to be here anymore!)
But in the back of his mind, he knew. Adachi knew this house was his deathbed.
He hid his face as his body shook with strained, strained sobs.