Tyson was tired and scared.
He'd been in this horrible place for several weeks now. And seen the horrible things the terrible creatures did. They brought people like him to this... what appeared to be some kind of enormous library. And they died.
They always died.
Why not me? he wondered. Why am I different?
All he'd been doing was talking to his sister. They were eating lunch, just visiting their mother. He'd set down his sandwich, she took a bite from the banana, and- he shuddered - they were here. But she was different. Her hair had become a tangled mess of greenish-yellow bananas, and her skin was mottled similarly to desert camouflage, with skin like bark. It was as if she were an Ent representing the tropical variation. Oh, not to mention she was roughly thirty feet tall. And screaming bloody murder.
He had run, hidden behind a shelf as she yelled, the voice unrecognizable as that of his sweet sister. He heard other voices, talking and yelling in a foreign, unknown language. Then a bright yellow flash, a final, ear piercing wail was heard, followed shortly after by a woody thump. Tyson dared a peek. The behemoth lay still on the floor, burning, filling the air with smoke. He saw creatures of purple, one of which shot some kind of flash at what was once his sister, which vanished the corpse, leaving splattered fruit and burning wood chips behind. It sighed, and the both walked out, locking the door, never noticing Tyson as he began mourning his loss.
Over the next few weeks, more corpses would appear when the purple ones came. One appeared to be a bloody, smashed pulp of a child. Another had come with a fork jammed up through it's left eye. Most scarring, was a woman who fell from the high up ceiling in a parachute suit, who didn't react in time. The sound of many bones crunching cracked the air.
Distressingly, he never grew hungry. At first, he believed it was grief, but as days became weeks, he grew scared. Was this somehow hell? Watching people die agonizingly horrible deaths for eternity? The fear and sadness had consumed him over the past few weeks. He couldn't take this. He'd do it. He was going to jump.
Tyson stood on the windowsill, perhaps four stories up. Below was nothing but empty land, stretching for miles until it was overcome by a dense wood. So beautiful. But it wouldn't take away the memories of their screaming. Their bones. The gurgling of blood. His sister's final moments. He took a deep breath.
And jumped.