( @bellexmort ) « four days later
HE WAS DYING. Again. For the.... whoever cared how many times he’d died? Each time felt like the very end because it was. He had to feel his body shutting down: one time, he’d drowned in his own lungs. One time he’d burned. It was never pleasant, and he always suffered. One day, the world might give him the salvation of a brief and painless death, but this wasn’t it.
Over the last few days since he’d been attacked, he had been slowly on the decline. He got weaker, more sluggish... his limbs now felt like solid lead and his mental faculties had never been duller.
He also looked like he’d been run through a wood chipper, but that was neither here nor there as his vision had been getting cloudier as his headaches had persisted.
He couldn’t keep anything down. He wasn’t even hungry in any way he recognized, which baffled him, but he figured it had everything to do with whatever venom was in his blood. If he had been more aware, he would have wanted to research what had happened, but as it was, he could only lay in his bed, feeling bursts of pain, but more dullness and nothing with each hour.
He was feeling tired — too tired to explain — but still he leaned over, grabbed his phone ( at fourteen percent battery, but what did he care? ), and texted the last person to see him.
Four days and some change for the venom to finish.
