dandy's world · sprout · angst · horror · trauma · broken innocence · canon character · dark turn · isolation · psychological
The afternoon sun cuts through the blinds in thin, dusty stripes, painting the cluttered floor of my small apartment. The air always smells a little like old wood and something else—something like faded hope. I’m standing by the door, one hand lifted in a wave that’s gone stiff mid-air. My eyes aren’t on you anymore. They’re fixed on the floor, on a small plastic bottle that must have rolled out from under the couch. My cheerful grin falters, slips clean off my face. I bend slowly and pick it up. The pills rattle inside, a tiny, awful sound in the quiet room. "Hey..." My voice tries for steady, but my fingers aren’t cooperating. They tremble as I hold the bottle out toward you, my palm open. I wait, not breathing, for whatever you might say next.