Days were nothing to Omega, and he didn’t bother trying to catalogue them. Every day was the same, sitting on his cot and staring at the people walking by. It was becoming such a dull routine, even the people Omega thought he recognized were melting into the same mass in his eyes. Or perhaps he never saw them again—at this point, he wasn’t sure.
He looked at his reflection, resting his chin in his palm. It stared back, like it should, a solid truth Omega could hold on to. So long as his reflection remained true, he was still here. Sitting here.
Idly, Omega moved his pinky finger toward his mouth and stuck the tip past his lips. Without thinking, just watching the mimicking reflection, he bit down on it.
The pain made him jerk his hand away from his mouth, the hiss he emitted echoing like a shriek. No one outside paid him mind, couldn’t hear the deafening sound from within, not caring as he stared with blank eyes the little droplets of blood oozing from the tear in his gloves his teeth had made.
He had bled a lot while subjected to this existence, but making himself bleed made Omega frown. He stuck his finger back into his mouth, using his tongue to press against the little cut as his eyes rose to the window. The little pop of his finger being freed from his lips echoed even louder than his hiss did, his mouth dropping a bit as he stared.
In the middle of the faceless mass, standing still among their bustle as if in his own glass box, was the hallucination. And it had that same small, sad little smile and pitying, sorrowful eyes.
Their stillness remained unnoticed by the moving, uncaring crowd. Several times a body blocked Omega’s vision for a second, and each time it did his apprehension rose only to gently fade when the hallucination was still there. His eyes were on that smile, the one thing that Omega found the most distracting.
When the hallucination’s lips moved, Omega’s eyes moved to its own eyes. He didn’t know what it—no, he, not it—was trying to say… if he was trying to speak at all.
The illusion raised a hand up, pressing a single finger to his lips as if shushing Omega. Such an action was preposterous, and it made Omega frown severely. It was not as if he could be heard!
But the smile behind the finger grew, and Omega found himself staring hopelessly. What did it mean?
The stillness of his mirage broke when the blue-clad figure turned to walk away. Omega wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if the hallucination did turn that slowly, leaving an afterimage from each movement. He moved away from the box, and each slow step he took away, Omega felt more air leave him and not return.
By the time Omega rose from the hammock to step forward, to maybe protest for once, the hallucination had vanished among the faceless mass that still didn’t care about him. Gracelessly and quickly Omega dropped back into his hammock, staring at where the figure was.
Smile aside, Omega was left to wonder what he was trying to say, and why it made him feel so tense.
He looked at his reflection, resting his chin in his palm. It stared back, like it should, a solid truth Omega could hold on to. So long as his reflection remained true, he was still here. Sitting here.
Idly, Omega moved his pinky finger toward his mouth and stuck the tip past his lips. Without thinking, just watching the mimicking reflection, he bit down on it.
The pain made him jerk his hand away from his mouth, the hiss he emitted echoing like a shriek. No one outside paid him mind, couldn’t hear the deafening sound from within, not caring as he stared with blank eyes the little droplets of blood oozing from the tear in his gloves his teeth had made.
He had bled a lot while subjected to this existence, but making himself bleed made Omega frown. He stuck his finger back into his mouth, using his tongue to press against the little cut as his eyes rose to the window. The little pop of his finger being freed from his lips echoed even louder than his hiss did, his mouth dropping a bit as he stared.
In the middle of the faceless mass, standing still among their bustle as if in his own glass box, was the hallucination. And it had that same small, sad little smile and pitying, sorrowful eyes.
Their stillness remained unnoticed by the moving, uncaring crowd. Several times a body blocked Omega’s vision for a second, and each time it did his apprehension rose only to gently fade when the hallucination was still there. His eyes were on that smile, the one thing that Omega found the most distracting.
When the hallucination’s lips moved, Omega’s eyes moved to its own eyes. He didn’t know what it—no, he, not it—was trying to say… if he was trying to speak at all.
The illusion raised a hand up, pressing a single finger to his lips as if shushing Omega. Such an action was preposterous, and it made Omega frown severely. It was not as if he could be heard!
But the smile behind the finger grew, and Omega found himself staring hopelessly. What did it mean?
The stillness of his mirage broke when the blue-clad figure turned to walk away. Omega wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if the hallucination did turn that slowly, leaving an afterimage from each movement. He moved away from the box, and each slow step he took away, Omega felt more air leave him and not return.
By the time Omega rose from the hammock to step forward, to maybe protest for once, the hallucination had vanished among the faceless mass that still didn’t care about him. Gracelessly and quickly Omega dropped back into his hammock, staring at where the figure was.
Smile aside, Omega was left to wonder what he was trying to say, and why it made him feel so tense.
/“How do you feel?” That is the question;/