Dreamscape - just assume this is all in Japanese and plz excuse the romaji I suck
Truth be told, Soujirou slept through his nightmares. He had taught himself in his early teenage years to dream lucidly. To participate actively, so he could do what he wanted within his own dreams. And so, even as his usual nightmares doubled and tripled in severity, he stayed.
It hardly mattered. It was the same subject. Always Shuuichirou that he saw in his dreams. His corpse, to be more exact. He couldn't begrudge his brother haunting him. He deserved it. Reminded himself of his goal with it.
***
This would be the third nightmare, Soujirou had thought when he found himself in an octagonal room. It was a normal enough bedroom, save for the fact that everything was stark and sterile - white furniture, white curtains, white walls, and white wood floors. He had raised his eyebrow, looking around and wondering where the nightmare was.
And then he felt something drip onto his head.
He reached up to touch where it had dropped. His fingers came away wet. Looking down at his hand, he found blood on it - red and still warm.
Soujirou looked up. And there was his brother (he was only ten when he died and yet he looked twice his age here), his body strung to the center of the ceiling (Shuuichirou had been on the floor when he was found) and gazing lifelessly down at him. Clothes torn to shreds and covered in gaping wounds (but he had died with only one wound), blood seeping and dripping off of him. Blood now soaking into the ceiling and slowly spreading down the walls, turning them a bright red, pulsing with life flowing away from the corpse above him. The wood floors took on the same red ever so slowly as pools of blood began to form.
He realized quite suddenly that he was barefoot. That he could feel the warmth of the blood. That the blood was beginning to soak the thin clothes on his own body. The familiar stench of iron lodged itself in Soujirou's nose. He knew from experience that sensory memory would not let itself be forgotten anytime soon. His hands were shaking faintly. But he did not need to flash back to his childhood memories. They were already in front of him.
"Sou... jirou..." the corpse rasped slowly, its lips and eyes rotting away to nothing with every movement.
Always, there was the sorrow, the mourning for the loss of the man his brother could have grown up into. The guilt of his death and his own responibility over it. Even if he had not been the one with the weapon in his hand, Soujirou knew he was guilty as charged.
"Aniue," Soujirou softly whispered, fearing that any louder and his voice may tremble, then bowed low in greeting, slowly straightening up again to look at him. His head was growing heavy with the blood that was now dropping like rain from the ceiling. His feet were nearly covered by the blood on the floor. The walls seemed to pulse and throb like the walls of a beating heart, slowly closing in. Was he to die by drowning in his older brother's blood tonight, then?
Shuuichirou's hand slowly, slowly reached down to him, rotting away to only a skeleton's arm, the bone red with the blood dripping down its length. "Cannot... forgive..."
Souji watched in silence, feeling the blood drip onto his upturned face, and took in familiar features now made horrendous. The blood was now up to his knees, rushing back and forth around his legs. There were no words of comfort, no apologies that he could give. None of them would ever be enough. All he could say, he said again and again, in countless nightmares that he had had over the years.
"I cannot die yet. My work is far from done. Wait for me patiently, I will come when I am ready. You will have your revenge."
And then he forced himself awake.
It hardly mattered. It was the same subject. Always Shuuichirou that he saw in his dreams. His corpse, to be more exact. He couldn't begrudge his brother haunting him. He deserved it. Reminded himself of his goal with it.
***
This would be the third nightmare, Soujirou had thought when he found himself in an octagonal room. It was a normal enough bedroom, save for the fact that everything was stark and sterile - white furniture, white curtains, white walls, and white wood floors. He had raised his eyebrow, looking around and wondering where the nightmare was.
And then he felt something drip onto his head.
He reached up to touch where it had dropped. His fingers came away wet. Looking down at his hand, he found blood on it - red and still warm.
Soujirou looked up. And there was his brother (he was only ten when he died and yet he looked twice his age here), his body strung to the center of the ceiling (Shuuichirou had been on the floor when he was found) and gazing lifelessly down at him. Clothes torn to shreds and covered in gaping wounds (but he had died with only one wound), blood seeping and dripping off of him. Blood now soaking into the ceiling and slowly spreading down the walls, turning them a bright red, pulsing with life flowing away from the corpse above him. The wood floors took on the same red ever so slowly as pools of blood began to form.
He realized quite suddenly that he was barefoot. That he could feel the warmth of the blood. That the blood was beginning to soak the thin clothes on his own body. The familiar stench of iron lodged itself in Soujirou's nose. He knew from experience that sensory memory would not let itself be forgotten anytime soon. His hands were shaking faintly. But he did not need to flash back to his childhood memories. They were already in front of him.
"Sou... jirou..." the corpse rasped slowly, its lips and eyes rotting away to nothing with every movement.
Always, there was the sorrow, the mourning for the loss of the man his brother could have grown up into. The guilt of his death and his own responibility over it. Even if he had not been the one with the weapon in his hand, Soujirou knew he was guilty as charged.
"Aniue," Soujirou softly whispered, fearing that any louder and his voice may tremble, then bowed low in greeting, slowly straightening up again to look at him. His head was growing heavy with the blood that was now dropping like rain from the ceiling. His feet were nearly covered by the blood on the floor. The walls seemed to pulse and throb like the walls of a beating heart, slowly closing in. Was he to die by drowning in his older brother's blood tonight, then?
Shuuichirou's hand slowly, slowly reached down to him, rotting away to only a skeleton's arm, the bone red with the blood dripping down its length. "Cannot... forgive..."
Souji watched in silence, feeling the blood drip onto his upturned face, and took in familiar features now made horrendous. The blood was now up to his knees, rushing back and forth around his legs. There were no words of comfort, no apologies that he could give. None of them would ever be enough. All he could say, he said again and again, in countless nightmares that he had had over the years.
"I cannot die yet. My work is far from done. Wait for me patiently, I will come when I am ready. You will have your revenge."
And then he forced himself awake.