hollow / storage

sullivan a e s t h e t i c crap:
https://open.spotify.com/embed…st/6GZOE41V4Qx0f97gepOwCK
https://www.pinterest.com/goresy/sullivan-c/

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TAGS ♑ — re imagined death oneshot / 2280 words

Fishpaw dreamt of giant spiders with legs long as the asylum's highest point, tiny hairs fluttering in the high altitude gusts of wind as they slowly descended on the hazy forest which covered most of PhantomClan's never ending territory. Their strides spanned what seemed like miles to his untrained eye, clearing stretches of trees and soaring past birds tens of feet below. They donned name tags made of yellowed masking tape upon their front ends, names scribbled in crude black marker hand writing. From atop his very own spider mount, he could see the sun burst from the horizon which was always just out of reach, floating toward the dark clouds and casting its warm light on Earth in one giant explosion of colours. The flat nighttime clouds from mere seconds before puffed out into fluffy islands in the sky, resembling masses of peach cotton candy. A grin as wide as the horizon was long stretched across his face as he scooped up a pawful of cloud, gleefully shoving it into his waiting mouth. Flavours evolved from peach to grape and blueberry along with the ever changing palettes of the sunrise, and he made a pleased sound when the sugary treat finally melted down his throat. Peering to his left he saw a friend labelled as "Spider III", who blinked its eight eyes one at a time and smiled right back at him after it was finished tasting the sky. He laughed and flopped over onto the back of his spider, nestled comfortably in its hair which felt like the nostalgic embrace of a shag carpet. For a little while, he laid in absolute silence, listening to the beat of one hundred spindly legs thudding against the earth at once, watching the treetops migrate past them like big colonies of broccoli. Eventually, he rolled over to view the gentle canvas above, heart fluttering like a butterfly when a cloud shifted into the shape of a smiley face sticker. In the land of the giant spiders they didn't own voices - they had no need for them because they could speak with their minds and shape their surroundings to express how they were feeling. There were no laws or rules because they simply walked forever, and time did not exist. This was Fish's absolute favourite dream as it had no limits.

Gradually the colourful sky faded to white, his bleary eyes fluttering open to the wall coated with peeling white paint next to the pile of soft bedding he slept on. He sighed and stared at the boring wall for a couple of minutes before rolling over in the tangled sheets to peer into the home of his tiny real life spider: a glass jar with a roof made of breathable cheesecloth tied down by an old stretched out hair tie. He pressed his nose to the cool surface and told the spider good morning through the power of their minds before wriggling his way out of his cosy sleep cocoon. The transition from dreamscape to the real world was always a touch sad, but that feeling always went away once he reminded himself he could visit again once the moon came out. It was why he always went to bed on time without any fuss as long as he could remember, practically a miracle for a young boy with off the chart energy levels like his. To start his day he exploded out of his room like a bat out of Hell, which begun with hunting down someone to gush about his nightly adventure to - which would ideally be Bakshi, but by the time he could get his old man to utter a disgruntled response he usually forgot most of the details. So on that particular morning, he blew a kiss to his dad's locked door and continued walking to find someone else with working ears, humming a happy little tune on his way to fill the silence of the deserted halls. By the time he covered the entirety of the asylum's vast indoors he'd gone through the Grease soundtrack twice over, stopping in the middle of Beauty School Dropout as his paws carried him to the front foyer. Nobody appeared to be up yet, and when he pushed through the heavy wooden doors into the muggy outdoors he realised why. It was overcast, meaning no sunlight to forcefully wake anyone without curtains by burning their eyelids open. He rolled his eyes and proceeded to skip through the overgrown gardens still slick with dew, ducking onto a worn stone pathway once he'd jumped out. It took him just under a minute to reach the end, marked by an old church looming under the cool shade of a gnarled tree canopy. Before continuing forth he would shake out the moisture collected on his neatly kept pelt, not wanting to track in any water. After a quick lick, he was satisfied, proceeding to bounce up the wooden stairs (skipping the rotted middle step) and jump through a broken portion of a sectioned window pane instead of using the door. Inside of an enclosed box on the back of the pew second from the entrance a small stash was nestled, one of its contents being a faux leather bound diary. He nabbed it, immediately getting to work with writing down his morning entry on a blank page somewhere close to the middle. He started with the date, June 20th, 2016, and went on to scribble down his thoughts until the stuffy building became too hot to handle.

As he stepped back outside without any plans for the day thought up, thunder rumbled in the distance. His too-big ears swivelled forward on high alert, but nothing else followed. He tilted his chin to the sky, which remained grey and still. He could already hear the lecture he'd receive from Xeryus if he caught a cold from getting caught in the rain while having a swim, but the clouds looked like they were going to behave for at least a few more hours yet so he ultimately went against his first instinct and retrieved the church spider's jar. Last time it seemed like it was enjoying floating on the water, earning it the official role of swimming buddy since he technically shouldn't swim alone. With the covered opening of the jar lodged awkwardly in his mouth he bounded through the surrounding forest, paying no mind to its odd silence. When he crashed into the clearing which housed the swimming hole he'd found earlier that month, he was met only by the still water. His gaze flickered from the weathered pile of ropes keeping the dock afloat to the plant life near water's edge. The croaking frogs appeared to be hiding, along with the vividly coloured dragonflies who tended to zip around the muddy bank. Investigating the area produced no leads, bringing him back to where he started figuratively scratching his head. He thought the absence was a bit weird, but chocked it up to the pond residents sleeping in today - his last two visits had been around noon, after all. A crow flew over the circular opening to the sky as he took one last glance toward it before hopping onto the floating tire dock. It wobbled under his paws, dim water sloshing up against its underside, and after regaining his easily thrown balance he padded down to the edge. His youthful reflection stared back at him when he peered over the edge. He stuck his tongue out at it and made a few faces until it broke apart into ripples after gently plopping the jar into the water on its side. He looked on proudly as it floated away toward the middle, spider desperately scrabbling along the walls to no avail. He interpreted those actions as his beloved pet enjoying some exercise and happily leaped in after it, creating a big splash upon impact. His charcoal dipped fore-paws slapped awkwardly at the surface while his stronger hind legs kicked and churned below to keep himself afloat. A few minutes of repeating this got him used to the motions, eventually granting him the ability to move around and push toward the middle to visit his swimming buddy.

Time was lost to the forest's pool as Fishpaw pushed past his body's attempts to warn him of fatigue. He was having far too much fun to go just yet, and splashing around in cool water felt amazing compared to the alternative: climbing out and having to walk home in the soupy heat. He saw no harm in staying a little while longer three times over, as rain had yet to fall. It was on the fourth contemplation on whether or not he should stay where he ended up deciding it might be time to get going. While scanning the area for his spider he started to notice how the wind was picking up; how it rustled the bushes and flipped leaves on trees upside down, blew the cord-grass around. He spotted the sheen of wet glass as the mason jar lapped up against the lip beneath the dock with the rocking waves. His face was slapped by a spray of wet wind, sending him into a fit of panicked paddling trying to keep his head up. The wind began to howl menacingly, whispering through the trees and long grass. Thunder snapped and growled at him, and suddenly the eerily forest was alive with all the wrong sounds. Just as he was able to make some progress in the rescue mission a weak tree moaned somewhere in the distance. His heart shot into his throat as his muscles tensed and sent him under. Below the surface his ears were suddenly deafened to the noisy start of a storm, his seafoam eyes wide with shock rapidly trying to figure out how to swim upward, water rushing into his mouth when he tried to breathe. Suddenly he was back up, his hearing over-compensated with the sharp pelting of rain now pouring from the sky and against the choppy swimming hole. He coughed and spluttered, trying to get rid of the water to replace it with oxygen. He needed oxygen. In an act of desperation, he tried using the jar as a flotation device, but his claws only slipped on its smooth glass. It would have sunk under his weight anyway. Disheartened he gave his spider one last good look and dug his claws into the rotting wood dock. He was safe from the downpour, sans what little made it through the cracks in the boards, but his lungs were growing hot.

A loud splash sounded, sending a wave in its wake which nearly ripped away his grip. He had enough room to tilt his head and look at the dark water rolling below his neck. That already minimal space turned into a few inches much too fast for comfort, then devolved into water reaching just under his nose if he tilted his head at an extremely uncomfortable angle. Where was all of this water coming from? His breath quickened as he looked for a way out. Through the tiny gap of air between the dock's edge and his watery grave, he watched as a tire floated out of view. He moved a shaking paw to slip through a crack to get a better grip since his previous hold was now submerged. He was cold, so cold; the muggy weather from earlier sounded like a dream as he was faced with the storm's cold front licking at his soaked skin. Face squished firmly to the boards, he saw the frayed ropes laying limp on the shore. His heart was pounding so rapidly, so hard, he felt like it may explode before drowning killed him. Air hissed raggedly in and out of his nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent anything from entering. On the next inhale water came in rather than a final breath. The heavy slats of wood were dragging him down, down, down to the murky depths. Youthful ignorance had long since drained him of the energy he would need to make it out, but even then fear still had him by the throat - and it had a vice grip.

Regret started to settle in. It came in the taunting form of "what-ifs" and preventative scenarios which were long out of his reach looping in a constant movie meant to torture his conscience. His brain was running at a million miles an hour in the face of death in order to support all of this painful thinking. It asked him why Bakshi, a real life superhero, hadn't sensed danger and come rushing to save the day yet. He wished it would go to sleep. His lungs were on fire and the fluid sloshing around inside of them wasn't putting it out. In a last ditch effort, he kicked at the shoddy dock as if it would somehow stop sinking long enough for him to move out of the way. His frustrated scream came out as bubbles formed with the last bit of air in his system, shooting past his dimming vision first in a consistent stream, then in shortening bursts. Coughing and inhaling still wouldn't kill him, and he wanted to cry as the water took its time with claiming his body.

When he lost his vision and ability to feel, he knew. The anxiety and pain which came hand in hand with knowing he was going to succumb to death any second now disappeared all at once and it was like going to sleep. And when he awoke, Fish would be met with cotton candy skies.

concept:

a shy character named eyecandy, cherrybomb, or bombshell

expand later