DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
He required familiarity – a constant that didn’t falter, didn’t break, under the claws biting and stabbing at his soul. If he kept moving, kept maneuvering, kept circling around, maybe the darkness stretching out beneath his feet wouldn’t catch him, wouldn’t swallow him, wouldn’t consume him.Maybe he’d let it – set the snare, watch as the rest of the world came toppling down around him, an echo in his ears until it was nothing at all.
For now, he raised the blade above his head, pulling all the force, all the ferocity, all the gods-damned rage, confusion, torment, and agony into the billowing motion of muscles and brawn. It careened and sliced, rampaging down, down, down over the target, and there was still little satisfaction when he stepped away, when he saw the entrails of its stuffing torn asunder. A snarl emitted, hackles raised, and he sharpened a quick, swift thrust into the guts, pretended it was something he could control, obliterate, annihilate.
When everything else was such a mess.
