Chapter 1- Photo Frame
Norman's hair stood on end, a shiver raced down his spine and a sense of dread filled him as he heard the front door aggressively slam. It was him, wasn't it? Wasn't he meant to come home at this time?
Norman attempted to stand up off his chair and walk closer to check the clock on the wall. But he was drunk, and as he took his first step, all he could feel was himself falling, falling, falling....
"BE QUIET, BOY!" Bellowed a familiar voice. "I'VE A GOOD MIND TO COME UP THERE AND BEAT THE HELL OUT OF YOU!"
"Yes, that is Father." muttered Norman on the hard floor of his room, eyes half shut. He was tired. Very tired, at that. He'd promised that he wouldn't drink again. He lied. He was a disgusting, filthy, dirty liar.
After realising this, Norman completely broke down. He couldn't do it anymore. He doubled over sobbing. It hurt his stomach. It hurt on the inside. He hadn't ever felt this bad before.. Everything had just piled and piled on him and he'd snapped. At this point, he was uncontrollably weeping. He tried so, so hard to hold it in so Father wouldn't hear, but it was physically impossible. he was like glass shattering into a million tiny pieces, impossible to put back together. "I'm sorry... I lied... I'm sorry... everyone..."
He gasped for air. Father. Stomping upstairs. To his room. He swung open the door as hard as he could and...
"WHAT THE HELL DID I SAY? ARE YOU BLOODY DEAF?" the mantis-like figure roared. "YOU WANT TO CRY THEN, DO YOU? MAN UP! YOU CAN JUST LEAVE!" he picked up an old photo frame and hurled it at his son's chest. It hit him slap bang in the heart, and as he felt the shards as sharp as blades invade under his skin, he let out a small gasp.
Norman picked up the photo frame with his shaky hands. It took him a few moments to realise what it was. The only physical memorial of his mother he had left. It was a picture taken years ago- Norman in the middle, Father on the right, and his mother on the left, her skinny hand resting on her son's shoulder. She looked extremely fatigued, having dark eye bags, extremely pale skin, and an obviously fake smile that made her look like she was about to cry. Norman missed her more than ever now. Apparently, she used to be completely different. Happy...energetic...pretty...
..that was all before Father. He'd treated his wife like she was dirt of the bottom of his shoe, to the point where she was insane. Norman didn't blame her.
Suddenly, Norman zoned back in, and realised just what Father had done. He'd not only shattered the only memorial of his mother, he'd also done it deliberately and shot it right at his heart. Norman felt the rage overflowing. His nostrils flared, sweat poured down his face, and his eyes hardened. "I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU WITH EVERY CELL IN MY BODY. I NEVER LOVED YOU. YOU'RE THE MOST DIABOLICAL BEING TO EXIST!"
His father's eyes bulged with anger. "You've got fourty-eight hours, Norman. Fourty-eight hours to get the hell out of this simulation." He left the room, shutting the door with a huge bang.
Norman was completely taken aback. What did Father mean he had fourty-eight hours? Why did he want him to get out of the supposed simulation? After all, he'd "mercy-killed" his wife to save her. Or so he said. Maybe he was lying. Either way, Norman didn't care. He didn't want to live in a simulation anyways.
The next morning was a total shock. In fact, Norman had thought it was a fever dream of some sort. But it wasn't.
He was awake this time.
It had been an average morning for him. He had a very disturbed sleep and decided to stay awake at 6AM. However, He didn't leave his bed, and blankly stared into the void of space and time until around 10AM. That's a total of FOUR hours of utter dissociation. You may think this is outrageously bad. And you'd be right. It is. But for Norman, that is normal. it's all he's ever known.
Norman snapped back when he heard a huge banging noise and the sound of swearing. He didn't care at this point, though. He knew it was father. He sat up on his bed. He began thinking about what his father had said about getting out of the simulation. He had so many questions- How would father know if dying would bring you out of the simulation? Is there really any other reality, anyways? IS there any reality at all?
He threw himself backwards on his bed, sighing loudly. "If this "reality" really was all there is, then please, God, just let me go. I can't cope with this life anymore. I don't care if I'm real or just stuck in someone else's dream. I just can't do this anymore."
