Chapter 2: The Morbid Canvas of a Wasted Life

Seymour found himself whisked away into a clandestine rendezvous within the restroom's confined walls. The seductive atmosphere surrounding him promised stolen kisses and forbidden desires.

"Maybe I should throw caution to the wind, I mean, what could go wrong within five minutes?" Seymour thought, as things unfolded faster than expected of a man of such control. Was it the lack of a sexual life? Probably too preoccupied to commit to getting his f*ck on ones in a while.

Whatever it was, it surely didn't prevent him from exploring every contour of her being. For what's worth, this rather felt like a bittersweet admixture of longing and restraint.

"Some golden fingers you've got there. It knows all my favorite spots." She hissed, guiding her delicate hands reflexively towards the back of his neck, caressing. However, the lights suddenly flickered, plunging the room into darkness.

"What the...!" Seymour cussed as his heart thudded. Suspicious thoughts racing through his mind, while his senses were immediately assaulted by the absence of light.

"The f*ck!! Where did she go...?" Seymour yelled, oblivious to the whereabouts of the woman he was latched onto a moment ago. "It's like she just spirited away... what sick joke is this?"

Silence wrapped around him, broken only by the faint sound of dripping water, perhaps from a leaking sink. He wanted to search for her but realized...

"I was so carried away, I didn't even get her name..." he thought. "Maybe she's scared of ghosts, perhaps she is the ghost. Well, who cares? I'm out of here." He turned towards the direction he assumed the door would be, however, in place of it were two crimson slits hovering a good eight feet off the ground.

"Are those... eyes?!" He thought, taking a step back. Just then, the sharp sound of a blade cutting through flesh echoed in the darkness.

"AAAAH! F*ck... my arm!!!" He wailed, followed by a wet splattering that reverberated around him. It was as if droplets of water were hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

"No! Stop! Please, stop!" Seymour pleaded with heavy breathing as he covered the open wound of his amputated appendage with his other hand, for fear of bleeding to death. Just like that, his arm had been ripped apart under the cover of darkness.

He was disoriented, like someone who had lost his bearings and didn't know where he was or where to run. The excruciating pain surged through his body like a torrent. However, there was more where that came from. A second slash ruthlessly came, punctuated with his pleas, the grunts, and cries of pain and madness. Gradually, the rhythm of slashes and grunts grew into a sickening symphony, discordant and unsettling. This went on for a while, until the grunts were smothered by a seizure.

His body collapsed to the ground and began to convulsing uncontrollably, consumed by the onslaught. The darkness surrounding him only seemed to intensify, pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating him. Probably, this was because he could still see his killer towering over him, but couldn't say another at all. The room became a bloody canvas, painted with the crimson evidence of his suffering.

"Haha! Haha!" In the midst of his writhing torches, a haunting laughter echoed through the air, sending chills down Seymour's spine. It was laughter that possessed a malevolence beyond comprehension, a laughter that reverberated with the pleasure of causing unimaginable anguish.

As the seizure subsided, Seymour's consciousness wavered between the realms of sanity and madness. Fragments of memories, twisted and distorted, floated through his mind, blending with the nightmarish reality of his possible death, that surrounded him. Faces of men and women contorted into grotesque masks appeared before him, some he knew, others he didn't. Their eyes empty voids of darkness. They whispered haunting secrets that only his tortured mind could comprehend.

"Did I make that many enemies over such a short period of time?" His inner musings couldn't help but realize. For a moment there, he felt a great sadness wash over his being. Had he not craved popularity and power, this fragile body of his wouldn't have suffered the blunt side of it. He wouldn't have made so many bloodthirsty killers.

Time seemed to lose all meaning in the darkness, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He felt trapped in a grotesque struggle with his own mortality, a never-ending battle against an unseen and sadistic force. If he had amassed this many enemies, then he was his own killer.

And then, in a sudden and disorienting shift, the darkness began to recede, retreating gradually until Seymour was able to see the dim outline of his surroundings. The restroom was now bathed in an eerie glow, revealing a chilling scene that froze Seymour's blood. There, lying motionless in a pool of his own crimson life force, was Seymour—life mercilessly drained from his body. The woman with him seconds ago was still nowhere to be found.

The stillness of the room added to the grotesque spectacle, like a haunting refrain to an act of ruthless brutality. Blood spattered across the walls created a morbid canvas, painting a picture that revealed ruthless efficiency.

In those few dreadful seconds, the remnants of Seymour's life was outed with his final breath, forever sealed within the walls that witnessed the gruesomeness unfold. Seems fate had woven a sinister thread, one that had abruptly garrotted the blissful illusion of Seymour's well-planned existence.

So ended the life of the central character in everyone's narrative, meeting an untimely demise. Was it karma's relentless hold, punishing him for his dictatorial disposition, or simply life's habit of extinguishing those who held it with a sense of entitlement? Either way, he was deceased, and the deceased simply remained that way.

___

In the vast emptiness, a ball of light hovered, radiating a glow that gradually burnt out like the last embers of a once great flame. Within this luminous object resided a bleak and hopeless consciousness burdened with indescribable regret, a torment that encompassed both body and soul. As it floated aimlessly, memories of a broken man surged to the forefront of its existence.

However, it seemed fate had a peculiar knack for disturbing the eternal sleep of the departed as well. Suddenly, an ominous tremor reverberated through the bleakness, causing the ball of light to quiver. Before it could attempt an escape, an immense creature materialized, its dark silhouette casting an ominous shadow. With a savage lunge, the merciless creature swallowed the fragile ball of light, plunging it into an even dark abyss.

***

Hey there readers! Scroll down the synopsis and join my Discord for free virtual bubble wrap popping therapy sessions. Guaranteed to relieve stress!