IMPORTANT! One, please do click da flag, so I know how many people have read the story! Thank you! Two, the story is in the Notes and credits! The project itself is just a "cover" for the story and has some music playing. The music is the start of the Moonlight Sonata by Ludwig van Beethoven. By the way, please let me know if you find any typos! Feel free to critique, I want the input!
Hey Guys! Here is the Schizophrenic story (I must issue a moderate/severe gore warning- proceed at your own risk): Children, their bodies, scattered everywhere. Everywhere. A scream. So much blood. There was blood in trees, blood on the floor, everywhere. The Schizophrenic stared in horror. He didn’t know if it was real. He never did. The medication didn’t help him. It couldn’t help him. Nothing could anymore. He fell to his knees, clutching his head. A laugh. Cold. The bloodied bodys and the limbs in the trees slowly disappeared. The blood slowly faded. He sighed. It was getting worse all the time. He didn’t know how to get these images under control. After a few minutes, he finally got up and looked around. All he saw was an island, his island. The one he got stranded on. The one where in a blinded range he had drowned his daughter’s dead body. The one where his wife had died from a shark attack. He wasn’t even sure if that family was real. For all he knew, they were just another hallucination. He looked around again and then stared in horror. There were body parts in the trees, but there were all shiny, all bright, all perfect. All plastic. All of a sudden, he remembered everything. There were no distortions, no maybe. It was all clear. It was a few months ago. He had it all. Then the hallucinations came along with the life-changing diagnosis. Schizophrenia. A divorce, A daughter left behind in his wife’s frantic flee. A boat, a gift from a friend. A fishing trip with his daughter, to tell her about the divorce, to explain why he was yelling at coffee cups, to explain everything. A storm. The boat drifted to the island. An illness in his daughter. The buried dolls. He sighed. Why did he have to dig them up? The buried dolls. They scared his daughter, they scared him. Their eyes radiated a cold warmth. Their bodies were alive yet still. Their laughter was pure yet non- existent. Their smiles were happy, yet dead. The dolls reminded him of the world. The world wasn’t real to anyone. It wasn’t real to him. It never was. The game. Hide the dolls. The birds, tearing up the dolls. The special burial game. The dolls buried near heaven. His daughter died that night. He was dying that day. The schizophrenic laughed at everything. Laughed at life, laughed at death. It was the last thing he ever did.
