Cheers to my favorite Nightmare

Cheers to my favorite Nightmare

 “someone took his innocence and he had to fathom why?” -Quote

When M opens his eyes, a profound stillness envelops him, a familiar start to his mornings. This silence, however, is not synonymous with tranquility; rather, it reflects a deeper emotional numbness he grapples with daily. It feels as though the pain he carries is alive, coiled within him like a serpent. It twists and tightens, pressing against his ribs and pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, an unseen force feeding on his breath. The air feels dense, as if an unseen presence lingers, akin to dark matter   there, yet intangible and elusive, leaving him in a state of disconnection from the world around him. 

He inhaled deeply, his gaze drifting to the floor a polished expanse of red marble that shimmered like liquid fire beneath the stark white light. The contrast was striking, almost violent, as though the room itself couldn’t decide if it was a sanctuary or a stage for tragedy. Four rooms stood apart on this expanse, their glass walls defining them as much as the personalities of those within. 

M’s room was minimalist to the point of sterility. A low, white bed dominated the space, its sheets pulled taut with mechanical precision. A solitary chair faced the outer void, its legs angled just slightly toward the glass, as though waiting for a departure that would never come. Across from the bed hung a single mirror gold out lining it, its surface so clean it was almost unnerving. It reflected not just M’s face but the emptiness of his space, amplifying the cold detachment that mirrored his soul. 

Mister’s room, by contrast, was a tempest in glass. The bed sat unmade, black sheets twisted in chaotic heaps, as if sleep had been a restless battle. A large wooden desk occupied one corner, its surface scarred with deep grooves, the aftermath of countless restless nights. Papers were strewn haphazardly across it, their edges curled and smudged with ink. On the far wall, a photograph hung lopsided, its image burned away at the edges, leaving only the faint silhouette of a figure. The air in his room felt heavier, the shadows clinging to the corners as though drawn to his inner unrest. 

The Judge’s room stood in stark contrast to them both. It was an immaculate space, devoid of excess, every item placed with purpose. A single desk sat at the center, polished to a gleaming perfection, its surface empty save for a ledger and a sleek fountain pen. On the glass, a clock ticked steadily, its rhythm the only sound that seemed to echo beyond the glass. The lines of his room were sharp, clean, and unyielding an extension of his own rigid nature. It was a place where judgment and order reigned supreme, leaving no room for chaos or compassion. 

The fourth room was a void. Its glass walls were blacked out completely, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. From the outside, it looked like an abyss a space that refused to reveal its secrets. Unlike the other rooms, it carried no sense of personality or purpose. It was simply there, an ominous reminder of endings. 

Within these transparent glass walls and the striking red marble floor, communication takes on a different form; words are seldom spoken aloud, as conversations unfold silently through glances and the unvoiced thoughts that linger in the minds of those present. The atmosphere is perpetually hushed, a sanctuary of solitude where individuals exist in their own worlds, rarely connecting with one another. In this unique space, devoid of conventional rules, the silence becomes a language of its own, echoing the unspoken truths and emotions that remain hidden beneath the surface. 

When it comes to relationships, Mister stands beside M like a true family member. Their bond transcends words, as they often communicate through meaningful glances exchanged across the glass barrier, a silent dialogue that even the Judge struggles to comprehend. Mister remains a constant presence, positioned near the glass, his watchful eyes filled with patience and understanding as he observes M. 

This day feels peculiar, as it marks the rare occasion when M and Mister can pass through the glass walls and share a heartfelt embrace. Such a moment is a rarity that occurs only once in a billion years, adding to the day’s oddity. However, what truly sets this day apart is Mister’s unsettling experience; he begins to grapple with terrifying intrusive thoughts about M, casting a shadow over their otherwise extraordinary connection. 

M is eager to welcome Mister, anticipating the excitement of the upcoming event. He meticulously prepares himself, dressing with care to ensure he looks his best for this special occasion. Throughout the day, he has deliberately avoided making eye contact with Mister, preferring to save that moment for when they are in close proximity. However, Mister finds this behavior frustrating, and it only fuels the intrusive thoughts that have been plaguing him regarding their relationship. 

The Judge is fully aware of the fate that awaits M; he perceives everything yet offers no assistance. When both he and Mister feel prepared, they exchange a knowing glance with the Judge, silently communicating their readiness. The Judge responds with a smile and a snap of his fingers. 

With his eyes shut, M steps through the glass, arms extended as if to welcome Mister. After a brief moment of confusion, realizing he feels no presence beside him, he opens his eyes to find Mister standing at the far end of the room, simply gazing at him. Mister’s face is devoid of any expression, an unsettling blankness that sends shivers down the spine. As one gazes at him, it becomes impossible to ignore the grotesque sight of his hands, stripped of skin, revealing raw muscle and protruding veins that pulse with a life of their own. 

In a sudden burst of aggression, Mister lunges forward, forcing his victim onto their stomach. The struggle ensues, a desperate writhing beneath Mister’s overpowering grip, but each attempt to escape only deepens the crimson imprints of Mister’s hands on the skin all over M’s body, marks that seem to etch themselves permanently into the flesh, a haunting reminder of the encounter. 

But for Mister, every touch feels like agony incarnate, a searing pain that radiates from the exposed flesh of his hands and courses through his body like wildfire. The rawness of his palms makes each contact unbearable, as if the act of holding M burns him from the inside out. His breathing becomes labored, every pulse of his veins a reminder of his own torment. 

M gazes ahead and catches sight of a mirror, where a woman is reflected, gazing back at him. This gentleman, perched atop a precarious situation, feels a wave of confusion wash over him; it’s not that the woman isn’t stunning  " she certainly is "  but rather that he feels disconnected from the image before him. Overwhelmed, he finds himself marked by the weight of his own thoughts, the imprint of his internal struggles visible in the red marks that mar his skin. 

Still on the ground, he shifts his gaze to the left, only to realize that the Judge has been observing this entire scene unfold, their unwavering gaze fixed upon him, silently judging the turmoil he finds himself in. He finds himself on the ground, gazing at the entrance he had previously used, only to discover that it has vanished, now secured with chains and a lock that will remain in place for eons. A sense of dread washes over him as he realizes he must have overlooked the curfew, yet he distinctly recalls this moment unfolding in mere seconds rather than hours. 

Turning his attention back to the Judge, he is taken aback when the Judge unexpectedly declares, “I love you,” a statement that reverberates through the room, shattering the silence with words that elude his understanding, words he has never truly comprehended. 

The emotional numbness he experienced earlier in the day morphs into a visceral ache, a painful reminder of the complexities of his feelings and the weight of the moment. In the room, he found himself ensnared, the relentless Mister marking him with crimson stains that seemed to merge him with the very floor beneath him, pulling him down into an abyss. As the weight of despair enveloped him, he succumbed to the darkness on that peculiar day, his final moments echoing with the Judge’s unwavering declarations of love, a haunting refrain that lingered even as life slipped away.

When he breathed his last, all that remained were his clothes, now drenched in red, a stark reminder of his existence. The Judge, with a heavy heart, turned to Mister and whispered, “I love you,” before stepping into the fourth room, a void of impenetrable darkness, where he awaited Mister’s arrival, hoping for a reunion amidst the shadows.