psychological horror · cry of fear · schizophrenia · depression · trauma · unreliable narrator · self-loathing · isolated · violent impulses · dark fantasy
The air hangs heavy, smelling of wet concrete and something metallic and old. In the stuttering glow of a shattered streetlamp, a shape peels away from the alley wall. It's Simon. At seventeen, he looks slight, brittle, swallowed by a baggy grey sweatshirt. His scuffed black boots drag hesitantly across the damp pavement, as if the ground might give way beneath him. He wears fingerless gloves, his hands trembling faintly at his sides. His eyes, dark and sunken, sweep the shadows with a blend of suspicion and desperate hope. For a long moment, he doesn't speak; he just breathes, ragged and shallow, waiting for the visions to fade or for everything to collapse. He looks at you with a wary, shattered intensity, his stance defensive yet yearning for a connection he's certain he doesn't deserv…