all i can do is stand on the curb and say sorry about the blood in your mouth
Maybe, when he tells this story later, when he recounts it, in a fast, panicked voice, a tremble shaking the words, Nate will say he knew something would happen. Something felt off, a twinge in his gut, a shiver down his spine. Too smart, too proud, too lucky to just be caught out.
The truth is, he is caught out.
So concerned with healing, with helping, and something in him that has been surrounded by niceness, by safety for so long it's like he forgets the truths of the world. Or maybe, it's the ascension that's made him so cocky, so confident in his own invulnerability that he forgets to be afraid.
There is no chance to even parse the words, the banshees screech just a noise. There is a moment where he feels something like a whine, the noise of a dentists drill, made physical, pulling across cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrow. One eye goes dark, that realization having the chance to land, to send his stomach turning strangely, before the burning registers, and whites out everything else.
So long without pain, and the first sound out of his throat is a confused bark of laughter, and then a choke, the scream coming so fast he gags on it, falling back and not noticing.
Not over the fire, a conflagration so great he cannot move, so great that it's all there is, all he is. White and burning and roaring in his ears. Burrowing into his skin, scouring the edges of every vein, poison flowing through his face, pulling him apart to press it deeper. It seeps in, growing worse, how can it possibly get worse, greedy, sucking, thoughtless fingers reaching in, through his eyes, his nose, his mouth, through his skin and bones and muscles, nails scraping and dragging, against the inside of his skull.
He can't take it, doesn't know how to understand it, but something in his body, instinct, a mechanical reaction, sends his legs scrabbling while airless lungs choke and gasp, hands reaching for something, afraid to rise and be caught in the burn.
The truth is, he is caught out.
So concerned with healing, with helping, and something in him that has been surrounded by niceness, by safety for so long it's like he forgets the truths of the world. Or maybe, it's the ascension that's made him so cocky, so confident in his own invulnerability that he forgets to be afraid.
There is no chance to even parse the words, the banshees screech just a noise. There is a moment where he feels something like a whine, the noise of a dentists drill, made physical, pulling across cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his eyebrow. One eye goes dark, that realization having the chance to land, to send his stomach turning strangely, before the burning registers, and whites out everything else.
So long without pain, and the first sound out of his throat is a confused bark of laughter, and then a choke, the scream coming so fast he gags on it, falling back and not noticing.
Not over the fire, a conflagration so great he cannot move, so great that it's all there is, all he is. White and burning and roaring in his ears. Burrowing into his skin, scouring the edges of every vein, poison flowing through his face, pulling him apart to press it deeper. It seeps in, growing worse, how can it possibly get worse, greedy, sucking, thoughtless fingers reaching in, through his eyes, his nose, his mouth, through his skin and bones and muscles, nails scraping and dragging, against the inside of his skull.
He can't take it, doesn't know how to understand it, but something in his body, instinct, a mechanical reaction, sends his legs scrabbling while airless lungs choke and gasp, hands reaching for something, afraid to rise and be caught in the burn.
i wish it was mine
NATE
