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blurrymango · 4 months ago

Text

Below the cut is. Some shit I just wrote.

You're eight years old and your twin just went into a coma. Their eyes are covered with bandages. Your parents keep them back home, in your room. Safe in their bed, right across from yours. Sometimes, it's easy to pretend they're just sleeping. That they'll wake up soon and things will go back to normal. But as time moves on, they don't wake up. You haven't spoken a word since the incident. Your parents don't notice it, or maybe they do, and they just don't care. It's quiet now. They can't speak. You won't either.

Your peers at school never liked either of you. Said you both weird, creepy. They notice your twin's absence. For some reason, they hate you even more. You get home, you go to your room, you ignore the body on the bed. You don't want to be in the same space as it. But you miss your sibling, and you don't want to be out in the house with your parents. Their hair grows out, you brush it, make sure it doesn't get tangled. You let your own hair grow too.

Sometimes, at night, you think you hear them speaking to you. You can't make out the words, you can't remember their voice. But you can hear them. You can't remember your own voice, either. Did the two of you sound the same? You know they used to talk a lot, you miss their voice. It's... been getting harder to recognize the body sharing your room as your sibling. It has your face, but not really. It's more like. A doll.

Sometimes, your parents catch you sleeping in the thing's bed. They tell you that you shouldn't disturb your sibling. It isn't your sibling, they were lively, bright, they had blue eyes and they liked to step on bugs. This thing in your room is a husk. It's barely alive. But it's warm. And you miss cuddling with your twin. You never hurt the thing. You're gentle with it. Careful not to disturb the tubes and wiring and whatever. You want to hurt it though, sometimes. It's frail, and pale, and lifeless. You wouldn't dare leave a single mark on its skin though. Your parents would have your head over it.

They make you get a haircut. It sucks. You cut the body's hair that night. You leave it longer than your own, though. Because it's more fun to play with if it's not short. Besides, their hair is better when it's longer than your own. You're going to be starting middle school soon. You want to tell it that. But you don't. You've forgotten how to speak, for one, and besides, talking to it would disturb the peace. You wouldn't speak to an inanimate object, you'd seem crazy. You probably are crazy though, because you can still hear it speaking to you at night. The words are louder but no less intelligible. It sounds like it's in pain. You are too.

Somehow, you make a friend at school. She has blue eyes. She likes to talk. She talks a lot, talks enough for the both of you. It's annoying. You draw things for her. You've punched a couple of bullies for her. But you don't let her touch you, it would be wrong, if you went home with someone else on your skin, you think. It might disturb the thing in the bed if there was residue of someone else. You've started taking care of the thing more often than your parents do, they think you're just being a good sibling, you just don't want them to touch what's yours.

Your friend goes home with you one day. Introduces herself to your parents. Funny, you don't remember if she ever told you her name, and you don't pay attention when she tells it to your parents either. They tease you about having a girlfriend. You feel angry at that. They think you're just flustered. She laughs, tells them you're just friends. The two of you hang out in the backyard, you're not ready to introduce her to. Your... twin. Yet. You almost don't even want her to look at them. She doesn't deserve to see them, delicate and monstrous. She doesn't deserve to go through that, it would scare her.

Somehow, she got a crush on you. You didn't even notice, your mind is stuck in your room with the doll most of the time. She comes over, and asks if the two of you can go to your room. You shut down, unable to stop her from dragging her into the space, you don't even notice her hand gripping your wrist, either. You're with her on your bed, her presence violates the air around you. What if her being here disturbs your twin? She's about to kiss you when her eyes finally glance at the other bed. She screams. She runs out of the house. The residue of her existence is hard to remove, you nearly cry while trying. You hope she didn't frighten the. Body. It's just a body. It can't be frightened. You have to remind yourself.

She doesn't speak to you anymore after that. She avoids you like the plague. You're grateful for it. She wasn't right for you. Her eyes the wrong shade of blue, her hair not dark enough. She won't be ruining yours afternoons and stealing away your attention from what's important. So delicate, and fragile. And warm. But not warm enough. In your mind, the body is still the same age your twin was, but you know that's not true. Time still passes, even though both of you are stagnant.

Puberty comes to the body first, with you waking up to blood all over the two of you. You scream, thinking that you had hurt it in your sleep. You nearly tear your vocal chords from it, even. Your parents rush in, no longer fazed to see you in the thing's bed. In your distress, you're thankful for their intrusion. They explain to you that your twin just got their first period. They say "she'll" be a woman soon, that "she's" growing up. You don't want that. You don't want that. They tell you that you'll be reaching puberty soon as well. That you'll be becoming a young man soon.

It terrifies you. The changes happening your bodies. Your parents give you the talk, and then tell you that you might be getting your own room soon. It's too much. It's too much all at once. You lock yourself in your room for two days. Only leaving the bed to get water from the bathroom connected to your room and to pee. Well, that's not true. You keep up your duties, taking care of the body. Your father finally manages to burst into the room on the third day. You're crying.

That night, you're too hungry to ignore. So you sneak into the kitchen, stop when you hear voices in the living room. Not the normal voices at night, your parents. Your mother is sobbing, your father sounds sad. They're talking about something. They're talking about your twin. Which is nothing out of the ordinary, they talk about the thing all the time. Always sad. Always sorrowful. Like they're mourning. It's sickening. But no. It's different. They're talking about you as well. Saying that this has "gone on long enough" and that they need to get both of you into the hospital. Your twin into a real hospital, you into an asylum. They're worried that you might do something terrible to your twin.

They're right, of course. You do something. But it's not terrible. It's not. It's an act of love. Nothing has felt right until now. Nothing quite as good as thrusting into the body's heat. You wonder why you didn't do this sooner. It feels amazing. Of course, the plan was to take the body and run away, but you feel so tired afterward that all you can do is pull out and lay down. You were gentle, being as inexperienced as you were. They bled, you felt guilty, almost enough to stop all together. But you didn't. You've been so good to this thing, so kind, you figured it's about time it did something for you. And it did. You had your first orgasm. Inside of it. You felt absolutely amazing.

You wake up to pain. And screaming. Your mother crying. Your father is angrier than you've ever seen him. It's terrifying. What the hell is going on? Your brain struggles to catch up. Your father's fist makes contact with your eye, and your remember last night. Right. Incest. You committed an act of incest. Of rape. And now you're being beaten for it. You hear your mother, full of sorrow and rage, screaming at you. "How could you do that to her?! To your own sister!?" It's funny, because that thing isn't your "sister", it isn't even your twin. Hasn't been since it fell asleep and never woke up. It's not even human, in your eyes. It's a thing. Of course, your parents wouldn't see it that way, now would they? They haven't had to spend every night in the same room as it. In the beginning they even scolded you for wanting to sleep somewhere else. They made you live with it and then they never bothered doing anything about your obviously declining mental state. So why are they so surprised? So angry? 5 years of neglecting you and they're shocked when you do something they think is bad? Your final thought before passing out is that this is their fault.

When you wake up next, you're in a sterile unfamiliar room. Your doll nowhere to be seen. A doctor sits beside you, you're afraid and confused and angry. He tells you that you're going to be staying there for a while. That you'll be getting the help you need. You're not paying much attention until he mentions your twin. You're not going to be able to see them, after what you did. You feel as though your heart has been ripped from your chest. You feel like you're dying. It's like your 8 years old all over again and you can't take it. You lash out. You attack the doctor.

The next years are a blur. You're drugged up most of the time. Hardly aware of anything except that your twin isn't around. You don't keep track of time. You don't keep track of anything. Your mind is in shambles. You think you see your parents sometimes. They're always angry at you. You want to crawl out of your skin. You want to die. You still don't speak. You won't speak. The only thing that's clear is at night, it's almost like you're back home because you can hear the thing whispering to you again. Except now, the words are clear. They want you to come find them. They forgive you, not for what you did during your final night together, no, they liked that, they forgive you for putting them in the coma in the first place. Oh. Right. It was your fault, wasn't it. But they forgive you. It's ok. They miss you.

You remember now, how it happened. You remember how you did it, but not why. The two of you had been on a camping trip with your parents. You were both exploring away from the campsite. It was nearing sunset. You had a rock. It was heavy, but small. You remember how easy it was, how satisfying it was for you to plunge it into their eye. Deeper. Deeper until they stopped screaming. They went limp. Both of you were covered in blood. Why did you do that? By the time your parents found you both, they were beyond truly saving. But you didn't know that at the time. You don't know why you did that to your own flesh and blood. The whole time, you were unaware that it was your own fault. You didn't know. You didn't realize. Why why why why why.

When you're to think clearly again, it's been ten years since the incident. You're not at home, you're not in the asylum either. You're in a hospital. It's night. Your twin is in a bed in front of you. How did you get here? You don't remember. You're holding a gun. How did you get that? Everything is mush from that final night you spent with them to now. You're different now, bigger. Taller and stronger and it feels wrong because when you look at them they still look so delicate, so frail. Why did you do it? Why did you ruin their life? You need to fix this. You stumble to them, your mind in a daze. Two bullets. Two bullets and you'll both be out of your misery. Two bullets and you'll be at peace. Shooting them should be agonizing. But it's easy, it's as easy as when you were eight and in the woods. You don't give yourself time to think about what you're doing after you shoot them. You simply aim the gun at yourself and shoot.

When you wake up, you shouldn't be waking up, but you're eight. You're in a hospital bed. Your twin is in a bed across from you. You don't remember anything. But you know that you've missed them. They smile at you like they know something you don't. It looks wrong. They look too pale. The room smells like death, old and rotting and full of dust. But they're smiling at you. And you smile too. They tell you it's been too long, that they've missed you. And you don't know what they're talking about. You finally look into their eyes. Red meeting blue. It feels wrong. Everything feels so very wrong. But you missed them too. And you're happy to be together with them. And they're happy too. All that matters is that you're together, right?

Right?

#mango man speaks #red and blue twin tag #holy shit i've been writing since like 11. it's 2 am now.#there's a lot of dark shit in this.#like a lot a lot. not even in a good way.#not hot or anything just. terrible.#im not going to reread this.#typos abound i bet.#anyway.#yeahhhh.

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