PSYCHO PATH (short story in description) by AiTONOMOUS on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

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PSYCHO PATH

Rock lay strapped down to the cold metal table in the dimly lit room of the asylum. The restraints felt like icy chains, binding him to a reality he desperately wanted to escape. His mind drifted in and out of lucidity, tormented by memories of the accident that had shattered his world.

As the sedatives coursed through his veins, Rock's consciousness slipped into a surreal haze. He felt weightless, detached from his physical form. Suddenly, he found himself outside of his body, floating in a realm that defied all logic and reason. Colors he's never experienced before swirled around him like cosmic ribbons, and strange, ethereal beings glided passed, oblivious to his presence.

In this psychedelic-like spiritual realm, Rock saw them—his wife and children. They stood before him, unchanged from the day they were taken from him. Their eyes held a mixture of sadness and serenity, unable to acknowledge his presence because he wasn't like them. He was alive; they were not.

As Rock moved closer, trying to touch them, he realized they existed in a different plane of existence—a world between worlds, where spirits wandered but could not interact with the living. It was a place where the boundaries between dreams and reality blurred, and where fears and desires manifested as grotesque forms.

Monstrous creatures lurked in the shadows, their forms twisted and nightmarish. Demons with faces contorted in anguish prowled the spiritual plane, feeding off the despair and anguish of lost souls like Rock. Yet, amidst the chaos, there were also fleeting moments of beauty and peace, like distant stars twinkling in an infinite sky.

Rock wandered through this psychedelic realm, searching for solace and understanding. He yearned to communicate with his family, to apologize for not protecting them, for not saving them from the drug-addled driver who had careened into their car that fateful day. But each attempt to bridge the divide between the living and the dead was met with an impassable barrier—a reminder of his own mortality and their eternal separation.

As time lost its meaning in this strange dimension, Rock began to realize that his journey here was not just about finding closure, but about confronting his own demons. The guilt and grief that had consumed him had given birth to these monstrous manifestations that now threatened to overwhelm him.

With newfound determination, Rock faced the demons that haunted him—the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. He fought against them with every ounce of strength he had left, knowing that only by conquering his inner turmoil could he hope to find peace, both in this surreal realm and in the world he had left behind.

And so, amidst the swirling colors and the echoing cries of unseen spirits, Rock waged his own personal battle. It was a battle not just for his sanity, but for redemption—for the chance to carry on, to live a life that honored the memory of those he had lost.

As the echoes of his struggle reverberated through the spiritual plane, Rock felt a strange sense of release. The demons, once menacing and overpowering, began to fade into the ether, their power diminished by his newfound resolve.

And then, as suddenly as he had entered this realm, Rock felt himself being pulled back, back into his physical body, back to the cold metal table in the asylum. But this time, he was different. He carried with him a sense of peace, a glimmer of understanding that transcended the pain and sorrow that had defined him for so long.

As he opened his eyes, tears streaming down his face, Rock knew that his journey was far from over. But now, armed with the strength he had found in the depths of his own soul, he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—to live, not just survive, and to carry the memories of his family with him, always.