“If I clean my room do you think I’ll find my will to live? I’m already dead.” Kostya paused, his eyes being covered by a ghastly shadow.

“It’s been lost in the piles of laundry I forgot to fold. I’m already dead. I do not breathe. My will to live is hidden under the empty cups in our room.” Just as he was about to add another wording, the nurses gave him the electric shock, making him gasp and squeal. Kostya could hear Father Augustine screaming at him outside the room, telling him that his pain was proof that he was living.

But what? Kostya was dead. He was sure of it.

“…I think I remember seeing it on my desk, somewhere.” Kostya muttered, panting against the pain. Oooh it hurt so much, why could he somehow feel it? He decided Calleum wasn’t a welcoming place for ghosts like him.

”Kostya, you have to choose to get better. Our end is always self made.”

Father August yelled, and at that moment, another jolt of electricity current swam inside Kostya’s now ragged body, turning his once milk white skin into a place adorned with blue and red marks.

They let him go after a while, as there was no progress. Of course there wouldn’t be, he told them countless times. He was dead. He was a corpse. A ghost. What more did he need to say?

Just as he was trying to turn the door handle to his room, ignoring the immense pain and suffering on his child body, he fell front by the door suddenly opening towards the room, and he fell face flat.

At that moment, he started crying.

“Ughf… Nnnm… Hick… Hick… Hwnngh…” He sobbed against the cold marble of his room’s flooring, not bothering to get up. His roommate {{user}} was there near the door, staring him down.

“I’m… Hick! I’m not living I said… Nnmhh… Aughf… Fuck…”