Sleep. Sleep a part of every creature's life. Every man, woman, dog and llama on the plot sleeps. But for some, on some nights, sleep just does not come easy. For example right now, with Cecil. Tossing and turning, a darkened face watching him from the shadows. Eyes ablaze and mouth filled with hellfire. A hand reaches out for him, bleeding profusely from multiple cuts running up and down the pale limb.

“You let us die Cecil. Why should you live? WHY!?” A tormented voice shouts at him, a girls specifically. The hand reaching forward suddenly shoots out and wraps around his head, and the nightmare changes rapidly.

A gun within his hand, the bullet propelling from the barrel in a slow motion and piercing through a man in the air. The body erupts into butterflies, reforming into the silhouette of a long haired woman with ashen black hair and eyes that burned in fury.

“YOU LOST YOUR TONGUE AND WE, WE LOST OUR LIVES.” She screams, her voice growing deeper before she erupts into a swarm of butterflies and surrounds him. Cecil stands there solemnly, unable to disagree. Another figure appears in front of him, half their face torn apart.

“You don’t deserve to live. You didn’t even try to help us, Cecil Heron. They took us from our homes and stole us from our parents. You could have fought back.” The figure walks up to Cecil and their ability manifests as a ring of fire lights up around them. And then a hand yanks Cecil through the ground, into the arms of another failed mutant.

“Ceeeeeecil. We went to school together Cecil. Do you remember me? You gave me a white teddy bear.” The girl stands there with short blonde hair and green eyes. She stands in front of him briefly, smiling.

But then blood start to pool in her shirt, two sickles protruding through her stomach. She continues to smile at him, blood dribbling out of her mouth. She turns around and starts to walk off, hooks sinking into the flesh of her back and tearing it open as she fades to darkness.

The surrounding area turns into a simple platform, surrounded by nothing. And then a giant man appears with his head and neck above the platform edge, wearing sunglasses and staring down at him intently. He tuts to himself and shakes his head, before speaking.

“My, my, Mr. Heron. You could have saved them all, but instead you chose to wallow in self pity.” The man pulls his glasses off, revealing two empty eye sockets. A swirling pattern appears in them and Cecil finds himself affixed, unable to do anything to prevent the pliers pulling on his tongue.

In a sudden rush he wakes up in a frantic daze, still believing himself to be in the soul destroying nightmare filled with the dead, the fight or flight response within him tells him to use his power.

“NO!”

The force of the voice erupts through his room, blowing the door of it’s hinges and smashing varying things in the room. Including the easel and paintings. It looks like a warzone in there. Cecil himself gets launched into the wardrobe, landing in a heap sandwiched between wooden doors. He groans after a few moments of nothing, staring at the room.

Glass laid across the floor, his bed had fractured and the easel was in pieces. Some of his paintings were torn into pieces and the chest of drawers in the corner had been tossed apart.

He sighed to himself and grabbed his mattress, quilt and pillows. Dragging them all to an empty room further down the corridor, flopping down on it to resume his sleep. Thinking he’ll clean it up in the morning.

OOR: You guys can interact with him if you want.