“I never wanted this.”

Charlie’s blood ran cold, catching in his veins like sludge. He could feel sweat running down his face, but when raised his hand to wipe it off he was overpowered by a smell that made him gag. Pennies? His fingers were sticky, maybe he was smelling them? He wiped a hand down his front. Whatever it was clung to his sweater and collected the loose wool. What was on him? He didn’t want to look down, he couldn’t look down.

“How could you let this happen?”

The ceiling was an uneven beige, splotches of off-white and yellow marking where water, and other things, had dripped through the ceiling. He examined the shapes until they began to move, then he just let his eyes fall out of focus. Was he swaying? He couldn’t be. He would have fallen.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Had he fallen? Charlie couldn’t see a thing, just the static that swam where the room used to be. Was? No, used to be. There was a tingling where his legs were. It was gentle, so he didn’t try to move. He had never liked the tingling before, said it hurt when he walked, but maybe if he didn’t walk it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if he lay it crawl up, up his torso, into his shoulders, down his arms and into his heart, he would never have to move again.

“You knew this was a bad idea!”

The static shifted a little, and the tingling pierced just above where his eyebrow had once sat, but he didn’t pay much attention. He picked up a vibration in the air, something he used to call a scream, but nothing became of it. The tingling got stronger, the static whiter, but he didn’t mind. A chorus sang somewhere near his elbows. Not a normal chorus, with violins and trumpets, but a new one, with horns and sirens, and what he thought were voices. His eyes focused for a second as a new form pierced the static, leaning over him with metal bracelets and black handles. Feeling returned to his body, just for a second, when his face fell at the scene before him.

“What have I done?”