The Redemption of Peter Wentz

Day twelve.

Brendon is in the same contorted posture on the bed shirt ripped to shreds and scattered about in pieces as it had been for days now. He didn't have the strength to fight back anymore, and light and clarity began to flood his head. Behind his vacant stare, the glow intensified in his black eyes. Brendon's back arched against the hunger pains, and he cried out to anyone that would listen.