︶︶꒷꒦ ✧ ⊹ ₊⁀➷
Quivering with momentous anxiety, Sophie stands in front of her, soon to be, former classmates. Her bottom lip trembles from the ultimate destiny. She held her hands and rubbed her fingers as she felt the end finally settle into her stomach.
“I’m so sorry...” her voice didn’t sound confident. She didn’t know if she believed her own apology. “I’m so so sorry!” Tears beaded down her cheek with a blanket of red tattered along her cheeks and nose. She turns to face Monokuma in his high chair. “I’m so sor-”
Metal clamps collar around her neck. Next two more snap around her wrists, then, her ankles were tangle in chain as well. The chain yanks Sophie down the hallway through a dark room. Her blue hair swings through the air. Her hands grab and claw towards the courtroom.
The dark dies with spotting of light. Sophie shoves her hands against the tempered glass. She breathes heavily as she looks around. A glass box frames her from the outside world. She rushes over to another wall, slamming her body against it. She whines from the bruise forming onto her shoulder from the blunt impact. She presses her face against the wall, peering through to see what could help her escape. Sharp, heavy, just anything that could be used to aid her in anyway.
Still nothing.
A blaring mechanical sound causes gears to echo through the room. Lights started to flash and swirl. Sophie starts to back away from the wall, and she darts her eyes to the three other ones.
The walls were closing in.
She grabs onto her chest. Claustrophobia was already very present, but her spike in heart rate only grows. She huffs against her hand, trying to calm down.
A drilling spike slashes through the ceiling of the glass box.
Sophie’s already pale complexion whitens with a seizing feeling deep into her core. She was already panicking from the devastation that the was closing in. Now she has to deal with sharp poke pokes.
She gulps down the collection of saliva bundling itself in her throat. She turns her head and finds a spike hurdling towards her. She scrapes her hands against the glass floor and crawls to the other side of the room. Her eyes hurdle from one place to another, but they were hazy.
The spike shoots through the other side of the wall. It misses her, but more spikes aim through the glass. Sophie looks around to each wall, seeing herself closed in.
Her back was now against the wall. Her feet were pushed against the other that was right in front of her. One arm tried pushing against the other side of the glass. Her other arm on the ceiling. The walls only made her body push against itself. She was no where near strong enough to resist the force. Spikes push themselves through the glass. A couple abrasions form against Sophie’s skin. Blood bubbles from the wounds and rolls along her curvature. A sharp hiss whines through her teeth. She kept her strength against the walls. No amount of pushing made them go back, though.
She felt herself sob. Just, sobs. Tears mound over her chin and fall down her chest—making her shirt fill with moist. The red trails puff up her skin from her allergic reaction. She tries to plea, but fear has her lips sewed shut. Lace dripping with crystalized dread webs itself together.
She begs to god.
Begs to anyone. She prays someone can hear her. The walls are so close now that her knees are now to her chest. She breaks her arms away from the walls and hugs her legs to bring whatever comfort she could to her panicked heart. She coughs roughly from the build up of drainage in her throat and the stuffiness in her nose.
As one spike jags through her leg, another shoots against her arm. She tries to pull her body away, but one flies past her head. The new wounds melt with puss and rouge. Each wall is pressed against her. She tries to call out; she tries to scream; she tries to make herself smaller.
Nothing.
She chokes on the overwhelming build up of fear. She coughs up more drainage. She tries to lift her head, but she bumps it against the ceiling. Immediately, she starts to shake her head. She stuffs her face into her thighs.
Drip, drip, drip.
Rashes spore against her skin. The burning feeling on her face and neck now blossom against her feet, arms, scalp, and other area in her body. She hesitantly looks in front of her through the gap in her legs.
Water.
No, not now.
Blood begins to boil out of her wounds. She gasps from the shock. Her face pales as realization surfaces: she really wasn’t going to survive. No matter how loud she yelled. No matter how much she cried. She felt the box squeeze against her. She knew any second she would get impaled, or maybe the water will force her to die. She didn’t know which she would prefer.
Strikes of metal pierce through her arms, legs, and core. The pain would shoot through her, but by this point she begged for it to just kill her already. The dripping, the burning only made her mind crawl with suicidal offerings—even though she valued her life. Her head felt bloated with adrenaline and mania. The blood spreads around her—soaking her clothes and dripping through the cracks, it stains the floor below her. Through seething teeth she pleads for the pain to end. Eventually, the pain boils over,
and it stops.
Her vision flickers as her breathing slows to a halt. Her lip quivers even with no blood circulating anymore. Her skin pales a snow white, and eyes left gently closed. All her limbs fall limp with pillars holding her up. Tears that rims her eyelid flows with gravity and creates droplets against the puddles of blood.
