#it quenches my thirst for horrific angst

[purrra-blog1]

It had started late one night. The coughing, that is. Horrid, dry coughing that tore his throat apart each time, claws dragging his esophagus relentlessly. He shook with the fit, cringing at the horrific pain spiking through him. What was even worse, however, were the wet petals that seemed to explode from his mouth, weighed down by blood that sent them plummeting to the floor. 

At first, it was hard to tell just what kind of flower he was dealing with, reluctantly kneeling once the coughing fit subsided. The thin, bloodied petals were Chrysanthemums, no doubt about that. Sleet swallowed thickly, his lips set in a thin line as he pushed down the fear that constricted around his chest. No, he wouldn’t let himself spiral into a panic attack, not while there was a mess to clean.

It took a few moments of deep breathing before the teen could get his buzzing thoughts under control. He’d always heard about Hanahaki, always thought it was a romantic gesture of love as shown in movies, a few petals coming out with a cough and gently floating down, seemingly painless. These movies lied. Hollywood always seemed to ignore the harsh realities of those situations, the horrific pain one went through in a desperate attempt to hide their feelings, puking their feelings out with globs of blood and flower petals. There weren’t many options to choose from once you came down with the disease, either. Get surgery to remove the flowers, as well as your feelings, or confess to the person and risk ruining any sense of a friendship you may have with them. Or, you could keep it a secret from everyone until it ravaged your body and forced you to shut down, effectively killing you. All of the options were rather unappealing.

Shakily finishing up, Sleet ran a hand through his platinum blond hair. Times like these made him miss his parents, made him wish they hadn’t packed up and left while he had been in school. The silence in the house was deafening, only broken by the slight rattle in his breathing. Then the sound of a sob choked out, the teen raising his fist and biting his knuckles to stifle the noise.This can’t be happening.He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting, head cradled in his hands as the dam broke and his tears began to cascade down his cheeks. “This can’t be real.” Hands rubbed at his eyes roughly, cringing at just how pathetic he sounded.

The sound of a phone buzzing startled him out of his breakdown, swollen yellow eyes staring at the offending device warily. Taking a few moments to aggressively rub the tears staining his face and to rub the snot off, Sleet stood and snatched the phone up. One unread message from the cause of all his problems. Swallowing thickly, he unlocked his phone and read it, ignoring the tickle of a coughing fit that wanted to come out. Softie Today, 8:15pm: hey r u still comin over tmrrw?

He really shouldn’t, not in this state. Locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket, the platinum blond began to pace in the living room. After a moment, he flung himself onto the couch, pressing his face into the cushions and letting out an exhausted yell. He continued to lay there for a few minutes, his mind racing over every possible scenario, over every little problem that could arise. Finally, he pulled his phone back out and typed up an answer.

Me Today, 8:29pm: yeah ill be there

Hiding his condition tomorrow was gonna be hell.