I hope I didn't change the design too much (⚆-⚆) ~A Torn Lilypad~ Name: Pneuma (The vital spirit, soul, or creative force of a person.) [Story] They were sitting on the edge of the dock, as they usually did on a Sunday afternoon. The sky was overcast, dark and threatening rain - or maybe snow, as it was only early April . They had their legs dipped into the water, slowly swaying back and forth to feel the edges of the lily pads brush against their skin. The water was frigid, almost too cold for the lily pads to grow, and Pneuma felt their feet start to go numb, they’d have to pull them out soon. “Careful, we’ve been having a cold spell, wouldn’t want you to fall in and freeze to death.” A voice mocked behind them, right before they felt rough hands shove them off the edge and into the dark waters. The boy eyed the water, slowly growing more nervous as Pneuma showed no sign of surfacing. They could swim, right? Finally, a great big splash splattered his legs as they burst out of the water, sputtering and choking for air, lily pads tangled in their hair and around their limbs, dragging them back down into the water again and again, back down into the murky darkness, into the flickering fins and weeds that brushed against their heels. The boy panicked, reaching out a hand to assist them. The next time they surfaced they latched on to his arm, digging in their nails to hold on, fighting the tangling pull of the lily pads they’d loved so much, now working to drown them. The boy screeched in pain when they tugged harder, almost pulling him into the water with them, their nails leaving long gouges in his arms as they slipped further into the water. Were they trying to drown him too? Finally the boy reared back, trying to remove his arm from their bloody grip. They held on grimly, wincing at the snaps of the lily pads as they were dragged out of the water and onto the dock. They laid there, gasping for breath like a fish on a hook, and blocking out the boy’s shouts as he looked down at his ruined arms. They both sat there for a while, blood and water dripping off of them both and staining the wood beneath them. The boy soon got up and ran off, leaving Pneuma to freeze. Each cold wind that came by seemed to sink deeper into their bones. They already felt numb from the waist down, the cold steadily creeping up their arms and towards their chest. They were going to die. Deep blue started fogging the edge of their vision, and they closed their eyes, fading into unconsciousness. The next thing they remembered was a blur, bright searing lights forcing their eyes shut again, muffled voices surrounding them. They felt weak, shivering and freezing, even though they laid there underneath layers of blankets. They opened their eyes again to take in the room, a white, barren block filled with machinery. A hospital? They felt another wave of cold pass over them and coughed, numb fear twisting their stomach as they heard the awful hacking noises that came out of their lungs. Wet and choking. They turned to look at the heart monitor next to them, watching the line get straighter and straighter as they felt weaker and weaker. They closed their eyes, barely hearing the panicked voices and long, unending beep. They didn’t want to d!e. Nobody really does though, do they? They felt a wave of peace, followed quickly by a wave of resentment. This resentment was the last thing filling their thoughts as their mind went dark. They didn’t wake, at least, it didn’t feel like waking. They were there, at the lake. And so was the boy, staring at the torn lily pads beneath him with guilt flooding his eyes. He was a bully. He didn’t want to be a murderer. But they didn’t feel sympathy anymore. They crept up behind him, silent as a wraith, “Careful, you wouldn’t want to fall in.” They murmured, making his head whip around to stare at them. He opened his mouth, to apologize, to ask how they were here. The words never made it out of his mouth. He was in the water, cold hands shoving him down, the torn lily pads swirling around him. The last thing he saw was their other eye as a breeze came through. It glowed yellow, unnatural. Drowned but not dead. Alive but not living. They held him there until he stopped moving, until his mouth stopped making gurgling noises of terror and fear, and the bubbles stopped rising around him. And then they went to the far corner of the lake. To sit. To wait. In the torn lily pads that drowned them. [END] *jazz hands*
Character Design by @yimiconthesecond Art: I drew this on Krita.
