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Glisten opens his closet, sighing.
There are outfits of many shades of color, not just pink but also blue and purple and red.
Though, most of the purples and blues were moreso for special events than anything...
He always wore warm colors. They're his favorite.
He also loves ruffles and poofy sleeves. The light pinks always complimented his yellow.
He skims through some shirts, some pants, leg warmers, but nothing in particular catches his eye.
All these clothes and he can't even figure out what he wants to wear.
Still, he grabs whatever just to shrink the options.
He put one on, stepped in front of his mirror. He didn't feel anything with it so he tried another.
And another. And another. And another.
Nothing felt special to them. They all felt the same. He tried different combos just to see if they'd make him feel good.
They did not.
He used to love dressing up. Staring at himself always. He'd sit in front of his mirror and carefully choose what to put on.
Now it all feels so meaningless. He tries, but nothing comes out of it.
He decides to go for blue but does it even matter? No, no. But at least it's something.
And then his makeup. He'll just do what will make him look good enough.
It's never enough.
Nothing is ever enough.
The food he eats is fine. His favorite sweets barely do anything, like they don't have that same spark anymore. Maybe they don't.
Glisten doesn't want to put on a face of confidence and joy, it's so tiring.
He still will though. For them, and his own sake. What will happen if everyone realizes how pathetic he is?
Nothing the other toons talk about are remarkable. Nothing caught his interest.
He doesn't even think that anyone wants to talk to him.
The most that happened was exchanging greetings and small talk.
As much as he loved doing Toodles makeup and playing little games with her, he doesn't have the energy to do so.
Even the thought of being with Toodles sounds far from pleasant.
In fact, he doesn't want to be with anyone. But he wants attention and affection from those he holds dear. But he doesn't.
This whole "I don't want to do anything" attitude makes him almost frustrated with himself for being so lazy. Almost.
There's a voice in the back of his head telling him to indulge. Just lay in bed all day and rot.
He wants to rot into nothing in the safety and comfort of his bed.
But what was this feeling? He could only ponder for days. This isn't like him at all.
He doesn't want to be lazy. He doesn't want to lay around all day doing nothing. But god, is it tempting.
He's missing... Something.
No amount of games and chatting could get rid of this emptiness inside of him.
It's unbearable. And he has to deal with it for the rest of the day. What could he do about it?
He thinks and thinks about the solution for this. There has to be something that can help him get out of this cycle.
What he needs is to feel something. Remind him that he is alive and breathing.
He needs to feel like more than just something.
He glides the small blade across his skin, a small pain following it. He's never been a masochist, cutting himself is never easy at first.
But after the first one he'll find the confidence to do more. Then he'll need more.
Cut after cut, the dark liquid drips out slowly. It hurts, the burning pain is evident.
Yet it doesn't hurt enough. He needs more. More cuts or else he'll lose that satisfaction. He needs to feel more.
Glisten cuts until he has nowhere else on his arm to cut.
It isn't enough.
It's never enough.
Nothing is enough.
That ecstasy is only there for a short period of time, and he only finds himself chasing for more.
How cruel.