What is this feeling? I've never felt anything like this before.
Haha... it's pity. I'm feeling pity. How can I feel pity for someone else when I can't even pity myself? My hands move toward my face, my dark eyes illuminated by the campfire of a girl's burning flesh.
My fingers caress my mouth. Ah, I'm not smiling.
I hook my fingers into the edges of my mouth and pull my cheeks toward the sky as hard as I can. As blood trickles down my chin, I yell out in my mind: Look, Mom! I'm smiling! Haha, are you proud of me? Do you see me? I scream to anyone who will listen in the silence of my mind, my gaze still fixed on the girl. I burn the image of her into every part of my being. Look at her. Once she was beautiful; now, she can't even be used as a vessel for a life that isn't human.
Haha, Mom, look at me, I cry out internally, unable to shout aloud because of how hard I am pulling at my own skin. Look, Mom! I can still smile!
After the beautiful girl's soul burned away with her body, we were finally allowed to leave and rest. One death. Only one death—that's all it takes. Life is so easy to take; just look at my mother.
We are led back toward the cages. The Green Monsters put us in a different one this time. As I enter, my eyes lock onto my only solace in this godforsaken place. In the middle of the floor sit three broken boxes of fruit.
Yes. Finally, a way to stay alive in this monstrous place. I need it.
Drool drips down my face. I take my first step, ready to pounce on the food like a man who finally found water after weeks in the desert. But then, I hear footsteps from my left and my right.
They are new faces—people I hadn't seen at the obsidian mine. They look to be in perfect condition, other than the dirt coating their skin. One looks like an old military veteran, the kind of man who would do anything to survive. I can tell just by looking at him: killing a twelve-year-old wouldn't bother him at all. The other one isn't far off; he wears an eyepatch and looks just as lean and hungry.
"Liezell... is that food?" the veteran asks.
Thump.
The other man drops to his knees. He is clearly deprived, his cheeks so sunken he looks like he's on his deathbed. "It's... it's food, Liezell..."
As both of their eyes lock onto the boxes, I speak up.
"Some of that food is mine, too."
Silence.
The two of them glance at each other. They forge a plan in their minds, unknown to a twelve-year-old boy. How could I know I was being led into a trap? Especially by a man like him. Mom always told us to look up to soldiers because our father was in the military. She told us that if we ever saw one, we had to be respectful.
"Ah... yes. Yes, of course," the veteran says, his voice smoothing over. "We will split it three ways."
A spark ignites in my eyes—something I can finally rely on, something to lean on. For a twelve-year-old, this is everything. I finally have someone I can live for. My eyes start to water, ready to shed the tears of my insanity. They take a step toward the food, and I follow.
Filled with hope, I quicken my pace to keep up with them. It feels like I've finally found the light at the end of a cave after being in the dark for days on end.
Thump.
Thump.
Squelch.
As my foot hits the floor once more, I realize I can't see my feet. Or rather, I can, but they are submerged in crimson—the deep, dark red that can only be found inside a human body. Looking around, I see a corpse. Its head has been torn from its neck, bite marks jagged and raw, with blood squirting out of every crevice it can find.
My attention snaps away from the light in front of me for only a second, but that is all it takes. A fist collides with my face.
My frail, twelve-year-old body hits the ground. My head throbs. I land on something cushioned, as if I were laying in my mother's lap. But there is nothing in this cage as soft as my mother's legs. As I force my eyes open, I notice I am covered in blood from the neck down.
Panic rises. I turn my head and see the corpse again, but closer this time. I can see every detail: every tooth mark, every ruptured blood vessel, every writhing maggot.
I scream in terror. The force of my landing had pushed the body over, and now I see the opposite side. Where the stomach should be, there is only an empty hole. In the midst of the rot, maggots are devouring a foot. A foot so tiny it isn't even the size of my hand.
My mind finally grasps what I am seeing.
"Ahhhhh!" I shriek, my blistered hands clawing at the floor to get away. But as I scramble back, I run into four pairs of legs.
I look up, thinking to myself: Yes. Someone is here to save me. The veteran will save me. He's a good person. My eyes travel up from his boots, to his hips, to his shoulders, and finally to his face. I see it then. It isn't a face filled with pity. There is no sadness, no desire to help. There is only utter disgust.
Before I can move, his boot collides with my stomach. I gasp for air as the force sends me flying back until my spine hits the wall.
"Look at you... a disgusting little shit," he shouts. He begins punching and kicking me, saliva flying from his mouth in sheer, unadulterated rage. "How dare you ask for my food!"
Boom. My blood soaks the wall. It looks like a masterpiece of art, and my blood is the paint.
Boom. Boom. Boom. With every hit, the hope I once felt is extinguished. The darkness of the cave devours me as the light escapes my grasp.
The insanity I had tried to wash away with my tears comes roaring back. It returns ten times worse than before.
Ha. Every kick. Haha. Every punch. Ahahaha! The pain makes the smile on my face reach toward the heavens
A NOTE FROM CRESCENTMADNESS
"If you enjoyed this descent into madness, please consider leaving a Rating or following the story! As a new author, your support helps me keep the fire burning. Please vote for my story it will help me get it out to more people, and that will help me out, and make me more happy to write
2/5/2026