choking on an unknown feeling

Prompts, prompts, prompts, yes.

For Paintbox, one of my agency prompts was disease. For Magicians', one was plants.

Plants, disease, hmm.

And Goretober day 9 is hanahaki disease o.o

So, here we are. I am indeed aware it is not the 9th, but oh well, it doesn't have to be on the exact day, and I'm only gonna post two for Goretober if I'm lucky.

also went a bit more on the flower gore than just choking up flowers.

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Thanks for the feature, I hope you enjoy it!

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#Goretober2020

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Art, proof, and other thoughts are at the bottom.

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Warnings: Blood, descriptions of mild gore

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He was someone who did not know what love was.

What the feeling entailed, what it meant.

How it affected others, how it would affect him.

He was someone who did not know how it felt to be in love.

So he did not notice when it started.

It was slow, just small things. A single petal or leaf at a time. He'd find them lieing on his bed after waking up in the morning, falling out of his hair after brushing it. Though not sure where they could be coming from or why they were appearing, he didn't think much of it. It wasn't a problem to him and he didn't want to bother anyone about it.

So he just left it as is, continuing with his life as usual.

A short time ed after the occurrences of the bits of vegetation had begun when the flowers started to pop up, tiny blossoms piercing the surface of his skin.

The first one he saw was a small Forget-Me-Not, clinging to the back of his hand. He was startled upon noticing it, and began frantically shaking his hand in vain attempts to get it off.

But the flower held on, causing him to just yank it out.

A short, sharp pain accompanied by a small bit of blood and he was left holding the blue flower, it's petals dangling limply from his fingers.

He stared at it, at his hand, at the blood.

What should he do? Should he ask someone? Would they think he was crazy? Maybe he was just imagining things.

No.

The flower he held was very much real. But...

He could still easily get rid of them, he could deal with it himself.

So, well, if it got worse he would tell. For now, it wasn't worth the trouble.

He'd just brush them away.

He would be fine.

And so he was, for a short time at least.

But the flowers became bigger, appearing more frequent. They were breaking though his skin, their roots spreading throughout it's layers. Pulling them out left bigger wounds on his arm, pulling off patches of flesh as well.

He'd tried to hide it as long as he could, scared about what was happening and unsure what to do. A panicked response of maybe if I ignore it, it might go away.

Until that just didn't work anymore.

It had been late at night and he was woken up by a sharp pain, opening his eyes to see a large Camelia forcing its way out of his arm.

As he watched, the petals cut through his skin, splitting it open as the rest of the flower came through. He stared, the shock preventing him from processing the pain. He just looked in silence at the pink petals, that soft color so harshly contrasted by the red of his blood.

Before he could think it through, he sat upright, grabbing the delicate thing in his hand and yanking it.

Loud cries of pain filled the room, the house, and he was left gasping, crying as he held the mess of petals, roots, flesh, a bloody patch left on his arm where the flower once rested.

His siblings, having been drawn to his room by his screams, found him sobbing, another large flower blossoming on his cheek before their gazes.

He was rushed to a hospital, despite weak protests that he would be fine, that they didn't need to worry.

A flower covered boy led to much confusion and panic amongst professionals

People were hurrying around, in and out of the hospital room he was in, no one sure what to do.

He stared blankly at them, numb from the drugs they were pumping into him. His arms were covered in bandages, but he could feel the prickles of the petals trying to come to the surface. A tickle had developed in the back of his throat, but he was too tired, stressed, confused to say anything about it.

Questions were flying and he answered with reluctant responses.

When had it started?

A few weeks ago.

Had it always been this bad?

No.

Had he heard of Hanahaki disease?

No, what was that?

Was he in love?

...

Was he? He didn't know what that meant. He hadn't felt different, hadn't felt like he was in love. Things had seemed to be going as they always had been.

The only indicator of anything had been those flowers.

The next question was cut off as he began to cough violently. He stared in horror at petals that had once just laced his hair fell out of his mouth, sticky with saliva and blood.

And of course there were flowers.

Flowers of all shapes and sizes, Camelias, Clover, Columbines. More of those damned Forget Me Nots and their baby blue color. Roses and Salvia.

They filled his mouth as he retched, his whole body heaving. His mouth filled with blood, cuts throughout the inside of his cheeks and tongue leading to more flowers growing there.

The bandages on his arms were torn as flowers ripped through, growing at an accelerated rate. They began winding up his arms, making a colorful, bloody garden. Vines shot out of his mouth, wrapping around his neck and face, making their way across his skin like stitches.

Hoarse yells made for an accompanying sound track to this terribly beautiful scene, flowers falling from his lips, covering up his skin. He jerked forwards, a branch forcing it's way out of his back, pink cherry blossoms quickly growing and blooming as shocked bystanders watched in fear.

He grabbed at the vines on his neck, pulling desperately at them, sobbing, confused, hurt, why was any of this happening.

He scratched futilely at the greenery, only succeeding at further tearing the open wounds.

So this was what it had been leading up to. From simple pretty petals in his wake to choking on flowers filling up his lungs.

His vision began to dim as he felt a root snake its way around his eye socket, scratching at the surface of his eye.

All because of a love he didn't even realize he had.

He choked, gasping for air as thorny vines tightened their grip on his neck and blossoms lay stuck in his mouth.

He should have let someone know.

He didn't want to let anyone know.

His cries began to weaken, his throat raw from screams and flowers.

Know what?

His body jerk several more times, a cherry blossom tree digging its roots into his back.

He didn't even know, himself.

He could hear voices in the background slowly fading out as blood filled his ears.

At the very least, he wished he knew who those feelings had been for.

His hands fell limply to his sides.

Maybe, maybe in another life...

Isolated in his own mind, memories flickered through his head. Happy memories. Bad memories. Ones he had forgotten, ones he wished had stayed forgotten.

Was this what they meant about one's life flashing before their eyes?

A seas of familiar faces. And one face that kept appearing, one face half blurred, he knew it but he didn't. Again, again, and there, he saw it clearly-

His body gave one last spasm, a whole bouquet of flowers bursting triumphantly forth from his chest before it finally slumped over, the only life left that of the flowers that had made him their home.

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So I wanted to try a new style with this one. I have been kinda getting a bit dissatisfied with my artstyle, so I wanted to expreiment, try a much "looser" way of doing things if that makes sense. That's why it's messier than my other stuff. It was fun experimenting with different things and brushes though.

Can also check it out on my IG

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Time Taken

Art: 8+ hours

Story: 4-5 hours

Proof

This should be enough, too lazy to try to get better ones.

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#curatorreview