Chapter 33: Dream (Part 1)

[Clock - 06:36 | 06:36 AM]

[Calendar - 17/02/2003]

[Location - Croc Kingdom (Name Pending) - Old Gotham, Gotham City, New Jersey]

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Trigger Warning: Suicide, Sexual Harassment, Generally bad mental health shit.

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POV Change

Atlas

"-and that's how I convinced Pamela to join us."

"You explained to her that when she died and was brought back, these green guys made her mad and took over her psyche with the anger of the plants, which drove her into insanity?" Atlas smiled at Waylon almost like a confimation of his small summary of the big thing that happened. Waylon just looked down at him while holding the small green lizard that was Sobek, his eyes narrowing- The way Atlas was a little bit skittish and looked a bit unhinged made him think, so he asked: "...And you haven't properly in three days?" He could see the wide eyes he had, his smile seemed almost unhinged and slightly crooked, and there was magic constantly glowing behind his pupils in different collored lights that made him intimidating. And it was quite entertaining and adorable how hyperactive he got too.

Cheerfully, Atlas nodded: "Nope!" He twisted in the air- he hasn't slept in, what? Three days? Maybe. "I feel great." Atlas couldn't really care about sleep! He had so many things to do still, and he hasn't even started a few of his projects like- The big bath house! Oh shit, he has to start that project soon, that is one of the things he wanted the kingdom to have because it would make things less awkward about body image and bodies in general, and Atlas really likes those Roman pools too! He was also hoping to start the paperwork for organizing the kigdom's future riches, because you bet your ass they'll be rich! He has plans for many things, and he has so many ideas that he is deeply in love with and-

"...let's go to bed." Before Atlas could even blink or react, Waylon simply picked his floating body and hugged him into his arms, making Atlas whole body take a shade of pink as he looked embarrassed but slightly eager: "...We're not gonna fuck." Immediately, Atlas sighed in both relief and disappointment, relaxing a bit under Waylon's arms. Waylon simply huffed, rolling his eyes as Atlas slowly closed his, as if fighting for his life so as to not sleep, as if he was... afraid? "Sleep, I got you... luv."

"...okay..."

And with his eyes closed, Atlas went into the world he feared- his own dreams.

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A sharp and loud ringing sound echoed out in the room, the familiar sound of his alarm. Atlas groaned, placing a hand on his forehead at the intense headache he was feeling: "Urgh..." With a groan, Atlas opened his eyes to his room- same old room, the same room he has been sleeping in ever since his teen years, ever since he had to come back to his parents house after he lost his autonomy... "Ah, its today, huh?" A somber shadow befell his mind as he remembered what day was today... After years and years of trying, of fighting, of debt and of suffering, he came to the sad decision of turning the life support of his father off. His father was a huge part of his life. After his mom dipped and went off with another guy, he took care of him as both a father and a mother, and helped him with his problems. Atlas grew up to be a good child, a straight A student, and really into arts and literature. Seriously, it was one of his favorite subjects! He went to art school, but because he lived in America, he was left with a debt equal to the mass of the sun in dollars to pay.

And what else could he do other than to join the military?

It wasn't that bad, but it was quite bad. The first time he was called a "little fag" he didn't really mind, but the first time his abuser (he doesn't even remember his name, because he wasnt even that important- sure, he tried to do things to him, but Atlas wasn't really going to let this guy live rent free in his head) tried to lay his hands on him, Atlas broke his jaw. And the worse part? He got punished for it! Like, what the fuck!?

But it doesn't matter. Not anymore.

"...well, can't start the day if I stay in bed, as tempting as it is." And he promised himself he'd stay beside his dad, because he stayed beside him through his own problem- pulling the covers off of his body, he stared at the stumps where his legs used to be. Sharp, jagged scars covered his legs and a badge covered his uniform- saved the life of a commander, huh? What good shit that did to him. He's still in debt, he's still in pain, and he's still suffering through all the problems he has been going through his entire life- but hey, at least he's a hero, right!? "...like that pays the bills." If he could, he would've let that guy die out of sheer spite- Atlas is a spiteful person after all, if the world would come to an end and the only way to save it was to keep this one person he didn't like alive, he would shoot that person immediately. Bringing the doom of the world simply because he hates that single supposed savior. Right beside his bed was his wheelchair. Using prosthetic legs was rather difficult for him because of how much pain he is in, and if pressure is applied on the are, his pain simply increases. It'll take years before he can even start physiotherapy to prepare himself to wear prosthetic legs.

"Another day..." Tiring as yesterday was, and as tiring as tomorrow will be, today is going to be even more tiring considering the grief and pain that would follow through the rest of his life- Hope, even when fleeting, has a vice grip on the heart of those who live. "...another day." He had to rely on his arm strength to push himself off of the bed, hold his body weight and adjust the wheelchair. Usually his dad helped, but he wasn't here and hasn't been here for 5 years now.

Seizure.

He had a seizure and fell to the ground. Foaming at mouth like a rabid dog, before he started shivering and having muscle spasms. He had a rare type of cancer. It had reached the base of his neck, and blocked out one of his veins, which was what had caused the seizure in the first place.

Atlas spent all his money in the hopes of his father getting better, but as times went on, his savings were consumed by the American Healthcare system- or the lack of it -like a cow thrown into a river full of piranhas that were starved for 5 days!

(Which was how those piranhas ate the entire cow in the first place, in that Theodore Roosevelt story.)

But alas, hope had grown wings and flew away from his heart soon enough. To make ends meet, Atlas stuck to making art and selling it online, as well as writing stories and having a Patreon, but it was barely enough. It's been months since he last took his pain medicine, and the pain of being alive was something he had gotten used to by now... So much so, that he hasn't even noticed it much except from when it spikes up suddenly. With a hard grip against his wheelchair, he rolled out of his room and into the bathroom where he took a quick bath, brushed his teeth, and put on some clothes. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't easy either- it simply was. "Another day." He whispered to himself, just survive another day, tomorrow things will be better, right?

When he got to the hospital, he needed no guide to get to the room his father was in- there stood the husk of a man, who has been withering slowly, being kept alive by human medicine. Atlas felt a pang of regret within his heart when a thought invaded his mind: 'Maybe... It was cruel of me to keep him alive for so long, suffering and dying slowly every single damn day.' And he steeled his resolve... His dad didn't deserve to suffer so much.

They turned off his life support that day.

He barely remembers the rest of the day... It was, honestly, a blur. He only remembered lying in bed, looking at the ceiling listening to music in his phone because he couldn't sleep (insomnia was normal, considering all the trauma, PTSD, and bad things he went through) when Euthanasia by Will Wood started playing. He hasn't listened to many Will Wood songs recently, but he had put his playlist on shuffle and... Listening to the song, for the first time that day, he cried.

Day after day, he survived. It wasn't living- every single day he had to find a reason within himself to not simply end it all tomorrow. There was no major reason to live, but if he died then he wouldn't be able to keep reading this web novel he likes, or he wouldn't be able to listen to this song he really likes too! If he dies, who would pet the neighbor's cat every morning? Who would clean the windows when they get dusty because of wind? Who would pour a cup of whiskey for on his dad's cup the day of his birthday? Who would continue the commissions? Who would smile at random flowers on the streets because they read a book on the meaning of flowers when they were 12 because they wanted to subtly hint to a boy that they liked him!?

He kept going for 8 more months.

Finding small reasons as to why, tomorrow, he couldn't kill himself.

But then... 8 and a half months later, news shocked the whole world. The cure to cancer was announced! Such a happy, happy thing... If only he had waited, right? If only he could've just, waited. The cure was ready to be announced years ago, but shockingly (please not the sea worth of sarcasm) corporations delayed it, because the sheer amount of profit that cancer patients brought to them... Well, it didn't matter anymore, did it?

He had killed his own father. The man who put so much effort on raising a respectful, healthy, and happy son. The man who helped him when he had lost friends, job, and more after a land mine exploded his legs off- hey, he got a badge for that, worth it, right!? -he killed the most important person to him.

Time to kill the least important person.

You know, contrary to popular belief, hanging oneself is rather easy. The knot is nothing really complicated, you just need to find a sturdy place to tie your r(h)ope to, put the rope around your neck and get yourself suspended. Not as easy to him, but nothing he couldn't do! It's sad that, even as you don't want to live, your survival instincts go haywire whenever you're about to die- so he clawed, nails sinking into his skin, as he tried to get the rope off, so he could breathe.

But as always, he gave up.

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...

[Would you like a second chance?]

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With a groan, Atlas rolled to the side. Memories of his death fresh within his mind, the grief and pain seemed to seep into his soul-

"...good mornin' luv..." The sleepy voice of the one and only Waylon Jones seemed to break him out of his thoughts, memories of- ...memories of what again? "You 'kay?" Atlas blinked- Waylon was looking at him with worried eyes, why was he worried? That was when Atlas felt the tears slowly dragging themselves down his eyes.

"Ah... Sorry." Apologizing, Atlas shook his head: "...Just a bad dream."

Just a bad dream.

-Author-

For those who don't know, I wrote a bit by experience. I can't really walk, and I use a wheelchair. I'm not an amputee, just have a degenerative disease that has slowly mad my muscles weak and nowadays I use a wheelchair- or would, if I left the house.

Regardless, that "find something" rule was something I used to do. Nowadays it isn't that bad, but I still do it with major things. Taking care of my cats, writing, and more.

It's hard to float away when you have so much holding you down.

Also, Listen to Will Wood. Good artist.

If you're wondering- he can't really regrow his legs because he appeared in the world of DC without them. So it is considered his "natural" state, and its like he never even had legs ever since he was born, which is why the [Regenerate] spell wouldn't work, he'd need something else. He will, at one point, make himself legs.

Remember, greet the world with open arms.