Discovery
A few cobwebs, old red paint, rust, dust, and darkness. That’s what the boy was looking up at, somewhere in the ceiling of the shipping container, drops of water leaked in, creating a continuously expanding puddle on the floor.
Drip, drip…
It was cold. The brunette was freezing, his skin looking almost like snow. The air was humid, it smelled of rust and old tap water.
The child swayed his feet over the edge of the bed, the mattress looked almost beige, it was unkept and dirty.
The boy was deep in thought. Over what, you may ask yourself? The latest method of committing suicide he had read of just today of course. Ever since Dazai had come back from his weekly check up by that disgusting, creepy doctor he was unfortunate enough to be under guidance of, and he finally got his dear book ‘The Complete Guide to Suicide’ back after the old, perverted man had confiscated it, and he could finally binge read it again, it was all over his mind.
But despite his excitingly entertaining and satisfying thoughts, his expression was blank. Two black voids staring up at the ceiling, almost as if he tried to drill holes in it. It was a rare sight, every single bandage that usually sat tightly wrapped around his tender and fragile skin was removed. Scars, there were scars everywhere. Not a single decimeter was left untouched. Fresh cuts lingered on his forearms, blood oozing out of the thin lines.
The boy laid there, on his legs swinging back and forth, hitting the frame of the bed, making a light thud noise every time his shoes and the metal made contact. His arms laid stretched out on the sides.
Dazai was bored, or at least he would be, when he stopped feeling intrigued by the current thought and longing to try that new method of committing suicide, which would happen quite soon.
He had nothing to do. Though he had a pile of books on his desk on complicated math, English, history, and such; They we’re from Mori. And giving in to Mori just like that and actually study all that crap? Dazai just couldn’t. Not like he would need it anyways.
Mori had just dumped the books there on a quick visit to his so called ‘home’. Telling Dazai that, “It is important” and that “I expect you to have read through these in the span of this week.”
Dazai hadn’t shot a single glance at those books, except for when he first got them.
Dazai wondered what would happen now after he had disobeyed Mori’s orders. Would Mori finally lash out for reals and give up on him so that Dazai finally could succumb to the sweet release of death? Probably not.
Would Dazai get thrown into the Mafia’s dog yard? Most likely, yes. So, would it be a good idea to start reading through those books like a workaholic-al maniac? Also yes.
Dazai groaned, he really didn’t want to. Just the thought of doing something that Mori had told him too, especially after Mori really had to add “be a good boy and...” before any request he asked of him, made him nauseous. It made the brunette want to puke up every single little bit of the little breakfast he had eaten. But he didn’t really have a choice now did he?
He heaved himself up from the bed, holding back winces of pain as his arms heaved his upper body up. The blood that had oozed down his forearms had dried. The boy shivered, the coldness of the container hitting him as he steadied himself on his bed.
He looked over at the books. As suspected, math, English, some literature too, and history. Just like he predic- Wait what? History, History of Witchcraft and Wizardry?... What was this? Did one of Elise’s storybooks get mixed up here? Or was it just some horrible prank that Mori had decided to pull? Either way it was complete nonsense. So Dazai simply threw the book on the floor. It landed on the cold metal ground with a loud thud. And the book flew open.
First, Dazai didn’t look at it at all. Until he found another book. ‘Gilderoy Lockheart – Magical Me’.
This is where his suspicion grew even bigger. More magic nonsense? Was this just a horrible and tryhard prank of Mori or was there actually something to it? But he still decided to throw it onto the floor along with the other book.
The other book, which laid open on the floor, with a long text about something, and a picture, a moving picture.