Work Text:
My name.
My name?
What was my name? What did it use to be?
“I'm not sure anymore.”
I'm not sure it's my name.
Must be someone else’s.
Laying on the cold white, textureless floor, in a cold white textureless room with cold white textureless walls.
He stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time he had seen another human, but he couldn’t imagine a world with any other sentient beings apart from himself, but he wasn’t even sure if he was sentient either. But If there were any other humans, they’ve probably all died, because if others existed they would’ve taken him away from this awful place already and brought him faaar far away. He wished that would happen already, he needed to feel the touch of another human, to feel warmth and texture apart from the metal of the stereos lined up against one wall and the fabric of his own clothes. He longed to lay in a bed, on a big comfortable mattress, to wrap himself in soft soft blankets and stuffies, to see bright colors and hear sounds and music and eat candy and feel emotion again. He hoped and prayed to feel anything other than the stale emptiness that threatened to take over his mind and consume his body till he was a hollow shell of a boy with no direction or purpose and the only thing that was left for him to do was finally, finally die.
But he didn’t want to die, he was scared of death. A small part of himself, a little voice in the back of his mind which was the sole part of his personality that he still retained in his deteriorating mind begged him to keep going, to just hold out a little longer as someone would eventually find him, they had to, someone cared, someone cared for him, someone had to. They would come to him, call out his name-
His name,
What was his name?
O, it started with an O,
He moved his lips to form an O, thats how he always figured it out.
“O..”
The next one used his tongue, he remembered that. Still making that same O sound, he pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, it made a sound.
“Oll.. Ol..” he whispered, searching for the next letter by making various other noises and pausing on ones that sounded right.
“Oli-“
He gasped softly,
Ollie?
He froze, his chest tightening and his eye widening. His name, his name was- that was his name, he’d found it, he’d found it again.
“O-..Oliver..”
He breathed out, feeling lightheaded when he didn’t suck the air back in. Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, that was his name, that was his name. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver repeated the name as many times as he could. He couldn’t risk forgetting again and loosing himself completely. He repeated it till it wasnt a word anymore, he repeated it till he could say it without any conscious thought. But it wasnt enough, was it? It would never be enough, no matter how many times he tried. Oliver needed to write it down, but how? He wasn’t allowed any markers or paint, no way to write anything down or mark anything. Oliver didn’t have anything on him and his spit wouldnt leave a visible mark, neither would his tears, the food he ate was white, the only drink he was allowed was water, he needed something pigmented. Something dark, visible and accessible. Oliver, Oliver looked down at his body, he had- wasnt there a pigmented thing- a thing so rich in color that it could be a paint- inside of him. A red so deep, dark and beautiful it stained everything it touched a dull crimson. And it was just under Oliver’s paper thin skin. All he needed was something sharp and a vein that supplied enough to write Oliver’s name in big, bold, bright red letters.
Oliver sat up, determined to find something that could cut his skin. His mind wandered to the smallest of speakers, the one he was clutching to his chest. The stereo, a thing no bigger than his palm, was more than a stereo to him, it was his best and only friend in the empty room. Perhaps the only thing keeping Oliver sane, though that was debatable. The small speaker’s family stood piled up against one corner, over there were speakers of all sizes, but none of them worked. They were Oliver’s bed, table, and chairs when he arranged them as such. but not today,
today they were his weapons, his key to remembering his name and continue holding onto the life that was slowly slipping through his hands. Oliver had named the smallest speaker James.
After giving the speaker a small kiss, he hid James behind the bigger speakers so it couldnt see what Oliver was about to do to himself. It would hate that. Oliver slowly turned to the broken stereo in the far corner that he had smashed in a fit of uncontrollable rage, James no longer trusted Oliver because of it, but James relied on oliver for warmth and comfort so there wasnt much james could do. Oliver sunk to his knees to examine the pile, the sharp edges and metals made perfect tools for what Oliver had planned, but his chest still tightened and his stomach still turned with a strange emotion he hadn’t felt in years, shame? Anticipation? Perhaps this feeling was happiness or contentment. He couldn’t tell what any of them even felt like anymore anymore. After a but of consideration Oliver picked up a rather dull peice, crawling on his arms and knees over to the other side of the room to another stark white wall. He rolled up his sleeve and examined his wrist, the veins stood out clear as day in contrast to his ashy skin. Olivers chest tightened more and there was a burning behind his eyes as he held the sharp metal to his wrist, feeling dizzy and lightheaded as his breathing sped up. Oliver was experiencing more stimulation through doing this than anything else he did. They used to let him sing, they used to bring him out of the room and bring him to recording studios where he got to sing, sing! He got to listen to music, he got to dance to the melodies he was given. Oliver! Oliver was foolish to take those times for granted, they never let him sing anymore, they never let him have music and he never got to dance.
Oliver dragged the blade across the underside of his wrist, his vision blurred from the globs of tears filling his eyes and pouring down his face in two big streams. Olivers nose ran and drool trickled from the open sides his pursed lips as he gasped for air, his chest heaving as intense, overstimulating emotions possessed him. Oliver’s emotions scared him, it felt horribly wrong to feel anything other than emptiness. He felt something bubbling up in his chest, he tried to push the frightening feeling down but he just couldn’t stop the feeling from overpowering him. A wailing sob slipped from Olivers lips, he dropped the piece of metal as his body went limp and he slumped against the wall. Panting desperately in and out as horrifying and ugly cries for help and strangled wails that sounded more like screams filled and echoed in his white purgatory. He hugged himself tightly as the feelings continued, he cried. Oliver had finally felt emotion, and his poor, overwhelmed, overstimulated body couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, as it has long forgotten what it felt like to have any feeling at all.
Hands shook him awake, he was being gently cradled in someone’s warm, caring arms. Oliver looked up at his savior through eyes overflowing with tears, snot still coming out of his nose and drool still covering his chin. Sure it could only be an angel sent by God himself. A pale, blond, familiar face stared back at him, red eyes filled with worry and shining with unshed tears for his- Hio! It was Hio! Oliver immediately wrapped his arms around his big brother, burying his face into Hio’s shoulder as his trembling body was pulled tight against him. Hio spoke comforting words into olivers ear as one hands rubbed olivers back and the other was tangled in the sobbing boy’s hair.
“Shhhh sh…You’re alright, Ollie, you’re safe, im here for you..”
It had only been a dream.