Work Text:
age:13
Neo always knew that he was weird, always felt that ache in his body telling him something was wrong, He used to be there feeling as though he was one with the universe, now he stood there with a static feeling underneath his skin, detached from the body he knew wasn't his.
He felt like scratching it, tearing it apart. like screaming in agony of what it could have been–of what wasn't.
He could have been beautiful, not the pieces of absolute terror staring at him from that cursed glass. It was supposed to be reflecting him but instead it showed the most horrible, ugly, and excruciating thing possible. His body wasn't his.
Did No one else see that? Was he just an empty corpse standing there to appeal to others? Not that he was appealing. His eyes were a shell, did it always look like that? Was life always this madness?. Neo was breaking, the shell that was his body was peeling off. His only wish was for that cursed static to stop.
Neo really could've screamed he should've, but it was too late. He can't tell anyone. What would they say? The horrible angst he was experiencing was nothing but incoherent sparks of youth? They would say it will pass, he just needed someone to talk to. But they wouldn't know.
They will never know. That horrible feeling that will eat you from the inside no matter what you do. The feeling of looking at yourself in the mirror and experiencing pure excruciating disgust.
His existence was static. He didn't feel anything, but also felt everything. Every aching part of his body pumping with pure hate. Hate for himself, hate for what he has become. The tears dripping from his eyes felt like nothing—but also like all the rage in the world.
His arms were filled with eyes. Eyes that were looking at him, examining him like a doctor, each eye was different, some deeper than others. The worst thing was knowing he was the one who made them. Each time cutting into the static flooded his body with life again, each dash a fresh breath of air. But no one could see the eyes.