April Eviction Brings May Affliction

!!!!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!!! - Gore, brief mentions of emotional/verbal abuse, death, depression.

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It wasn't sure how long it had been like this. Weeks... months, maybe. It wished it didn't know how to feel emotion. Though it was crumbling into nothingness, it could feel every stab of heartbreak and rejection as though they were new. It was in agony.

A vivid memory possessed its mind of roses and a heartfelt letter. Once upon a time, it brought those roses to the person it yearned for. Hope possessed its heart at the time, but they soon crushed it when they rejected its love. Soon, it grew cold and its body and mind played a constant loop of the response it received.

"No. I would never date you. Not even if I was paid to do so."

It was in pain. The unrequited love it possessed agonizingly tortured it. So, though surprising, it accepted the day it woke up to see thorns sprouting from its skin.

One morning, as it was bathing, it saw a small green spike growing from its arm. At first, it was convinced it was a piece of debris, but when the spike would not come out, it realized... Thorns were growing from its skin. It had heard of this before. Somewhere, in a distant memory. Suddenly, it was struck by the intensity of the memory. Hanahaki disease. It filled the victim's lungs until it vomited flowers. And yes, it had heard of Hanahaki disease before, but that was all fiction. No one said anything about thorns growing from the skin.

Confusion clouded its mind before panic seized it. What was this thorn doing on its skin? Where had it come from? Was it dreaming? Was any of this real? It tried to pinch itself, wake up from the odd dream that made it see thorns all over its body.

Unfortunately, it did not wake up. The thorns did not disappear, either. Eventually, it gave up, hopeless, and settled down into its daily routine. Days passed; each one filled with despair and tears. And before it realized, thorns made way to stems. Stems sprouted from its arms, and slowly, agonizingly, it grew weaker.

Now, not only could it remember the harsh sting of abandonment, but sickness also occupied its days. It would wake up in the morning to a cramping stomach and aching chest. It would spend nights in a cold sweat, temple pounding, and body writhing as thick stems pushed their way through its skin. On harder mornings, bloody sheets would greet its vision as it realized its body was splitting open.

It was not sure how long it had been, but weeks passed, and soon rosebuds grew from its limbs. They started on its legs and moved upwards, reaching its neck and stopping. They did not hurt, per se, but they were very uncomfortable. No matter how many times it plucked the tiny pieces with tweezers, they always grew back. Eventually, it gave up hope once more. There was no use fighting something that could not die.

And so, it resigned to its life of torture. It submit itself to the pain as harsh conditions rained down upon it. And with them, the memory of harsh words greeted its ears.

"You are nothing to me. Once, I may have considered you a friend. But now you are nothing. You have wasted your time here. Go home. I do not want you."

'I do not want you.'

The harsh truth struck it like a semi-truck and, it was left shaking on its mattress. Writhing as a worm stuck in the dirt. Frantically scrambling like a cockroach turned on its back. It was pitiful.

Soon, it was struck by a wave of sadness it had never felt before. Without its knowledge, tears trickled down its face, painting it with grief. It did not realize sobs left its lips until they increased in volume. At this point, it was practically screaming. Sighing, it wiped its face with its sleeve. However, when it pulled its hand away, its heart skipped a beat. 

Red painted its white sleeve, the contrast in full detail. It was unsure why it was bleeding, but it soon realized that its vision was blurring. Pain ripped through its temple, unlike the headaches it faced at night. It felt as though something was trying to claw its way out of its head. It screamed in agony as the pain increased. At this point, it felt as though it was being seared with a hot knife. It swore if it tried hard enough, it could smell burning flesh. It raised a shaky, pale hand to its forehead and pulled away quickly. There was nothing there. Its forehead was empty. 

Confused, it placed its hand on its cheek, where it felt tears drying. When its hand was back in its blurry sight, it saw that they were painted with red. Screaming in fright, it hurriedly touched its eyeball. However, this only made the pain come back in full force and it cursed as an extremely primal fear was released in its stomach. It stumbled to the mirror on the far side of the room, almost collapsing each time. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It heard the patter of tears painting the floor as it rushed to the far wall. Taking a crazed look into the mirror, it realized in horror that roses bloomed from its eyeballs. Its eyes bulged out, almost being forced to evict their socket from the roses pushing on them. It was terrified and in scorching anguish. Without a second thought, it brought its hand to its eyes and clawed desperately, frantically trying to rip out the roses that threatened to expel its optic organs. Rose petals littered the ground beside it and it tried not to think about a very similar scene that it once saw. Roses, strewn on the ground. Sad in appearance. Only this time, they were bloody. 

It did not stop, ripping and tearing at the roses that would not stop pushing on its eyes. It hurt, pressure building in its skull until it threatened to explode. And yet, it continued, ripping and ripping until finally... its vision cleared. It looked in the mirror, wildly concerned as to what it might find. Fortunately, nothing filled its eye sockets. Unfortunately, blood now poured out of its face, leaving it squirming uncomfortably. It grabbed tissues from its bedside table, rushing to stop the blood flow. 

Thirty minutes later, the blood had finally stopped and it was now exhausted. Its body ached and it wished nothing more than to sleep. So it did. When it finally emerged from slumber, it realized that sleep had possessed it for two days. This was unnatural for it, as it usually only slept four hours a night. Pain coursed through its body nightly, so it usually did not receive much sleep. 

It was mildly satisfied with itself, glad to finally receive the sleep it needed. However, when it looked forward, memories came back to it of flower petals and blood. Heartbeat quickening, it moved forward and looked at the ground in front of its mirror. Petals covered the ground. Even more so than it predicted. There had to be at least hundreds of petals painting its floor in red. It walked through the house, trying to find the closet. It did not use cleaning supplies often, so it was not exactly sure where they were kept. Checking the closet in its basement, it saw a small broom and dustpan. Hopefully, they would do the trick. 

It took many trips due to the number of flowers, but eventually, it cleaned its room. And despite the two-day sleep it had just been granted, its body ached and exhaustion crept into its mind. 

It tried to stay awake, tried to pass time with books and musical arrangements. But nothing worked. And soon, it was embraced by the darkness that sleep brought upon it. Though it was never happy, sleep was the closest place it could come. So it was not too disappointed when it woke up ten hours later. After all, sleep was the only gift it possessed and could hold onto. 

Its body must have been exhausted, so it was glad it had slept. However, sweat-slicked limbs made it feel very uncomfortable, and the hours of sleep brought much sweat upon it. Sighing, it headed off to shower, trying not to think about how long it had been. Around halfway through the shower, it noticed something was off. Its body felt... heavier. Yet it looked the same. That is until it noticed large bumps covering its body. 

Curious, yet frightened, it reached out a wary hand to touch one on its leg. When its fingertips came into contact with the mass, it felt a blood-curdling scream rip its way through its lungs. Slowly, the bump ripped open, as its skin started to split into sections. Looking down frantically, it noticed blood pouring from its leg, as layers of skin peeled back in resemblance to a rose. The inside of its leg revealed, it saw how its flesh and meat were crimson, just as roses are. Before it could move, its skin opened up everywhere a bump had been and it screamed, vision blurring at the edges. It was not sure how it was not dead already, with the mass amount of blood it had already lost. It was not sure how it had not fainted already. 

It howled in pain, as what felt like talons dug their way into its skin. It was the opposite. Talons were digging their way out of its skin, and folding it upwards like a blistering carcass. Its skin peeled, revealing deeper into its body and it gagged, trying hard not to expel its stomachs contents. 

Yet, the sight and pain were too much for it and it gagged continuously until it felt the very start of vomit forming in its chest. Bile burned its tongue, and it urged the contents to come out already. Gagging one last time, it closed its eyes as it felt the contents spill from its mouth. An ache greeted its throat and mouth, as the vomit finally cleared. But something was wrong. This was not vomit. It coughed, chest aching with a sharp pain as it felt something fill its torso. Almost like an ice machine creating new ice after becoming empty. 

In horror, it looked down on the floor of the shower, as it tried to wipe tears from its eyes. The force of the sickness was almost painful and it had to clear its vision before continuing. 

Roses littered the ground of the shower, not petals anymore. Roses, with their stems missing, coated the shower floor. And unsettled, it realized that those roses had just come from its stomach. Hanahaki disease was fiction. It was impossible. So why was it now vomiting ruby flowers all over the floor of its shower? It was unsure. It was very, very aghast. 

Choking on its saliva, it gulped for air as it felt a panic attack threatening to take it. It urged itself to stay calm, to realize that this was not happening. Maybe it had succumbed to insanity over the rejection it faced early that year. But no, it could still feel the pain ghosting its chest. Still see its skin folded in angry creases as the pain began to fade to numbness. It slid down the shower wall, water coating its face as it contemplated what to do.

It was unsure. It did not know what to do. It was dying. Death would soon take it and there was nothing it could do to prevent this. And in that realization, it allowed itself to remember. 

Remember the terrible way it felt when it was originally dismissed. Remember the scowl that greeted the face of the woman it yearned for. It could not remember what it was. Woman, man, in between. Too much time had passed. Too much sorrow. And now all it was was pain. It remembered the way she ripped the flowers from its offering hands, and blood blossomed on its fingertips. It remembered the way she threw the flowers onto the ground and smothered them with the heel of her shoe. It remembered the way she looked at it, disgusted. The way her eyes spoke the words before she said them. 

"You are nothing. You are miserable and pitiful. Leave, before I do something bad. I do not love you. All you are is a degenerate. My father says you will burn. Burn in Hell for your sins. I hope he is right and I hope you realize that our friendship was built on nothing. I mocked you every day, and told my true friends of your evil-nature."

And then it remembered the days of childhood, people in town looking at it strangely. It remembered how odd it was in adolescence, declaring that its town was wrong. It was wrong to kill innocent humans for sport. It was wrong to hunt people who looked different. It never had a chance of love, even from its parents. It was an abomination, something that dared to speak against tradition. And so all the love it was denied lodged itself in its body. However, it was painful. Thorns and roses only now showed their appearance, but it remembered the days it spent crying over its rejection. Maybe this had been formulating in its body all along. It was not Hanahaki disease. It was dying from heartbreak. Stick and stones could not break its bones, but flowers had a way to do so.

"You are nothing."

"You are an abomination."

"I hope you burn."

I hope you burn. I hope you burn. I hope you burn. 

The phrase repeated itself in its mind as it laughed maniacally. No, it was not burning. It was dying, skin being ripped from its bones as a garden grew inside of it. Maybe it was not so bad to die after all. A few months of suffering just to end all chances of it continuing. 

So it would burn. It would burn brighter than the stars in the sky, as it left this plane of existence, leaving all its suffering behind. 

"I hope you burn," it whispered to itself, as it felt a moment of torturous pressure.

And then it exploded. Eyes, heart, lungs, stomach, and skin detonated into a supernova, as it was greeted by darkness. Just before it closed its eyes, it saw the red that painted the walls. Red, just like roses.