- NATE -
I don’t want a world
Without pain or loss
Without pain or loss
The house is a stranger now, smoke choked and hollow. Unfamiliar. Impersonal. Nate haunts the rooms, the ocean views, the rooms and decor that had been home so recently. He wants to crumble apart, and he wants, selfishly, everything to come along with him.
He wants the world to be ending, as rocked as he is by this sense of loss, by this weightless, endless sense of pain. He wants to fall, helpless and sobbing, against the floor and force all of this out like a sliver, like a bad dream. He can’t. He can’t do any of it.
He simply creeps from room to room, looking but not for some anchor, for his pilot light. The kittens follow along at his heels, and Pemota distant behind them, even her light dimmed (or perhaps that’s just him as well, out of her reach). ”Mel?” His voice is soft, crackly like dry wood on fire, some internal damage still left in a state of disrepair. It’s not even clear if Nate actually sees her at first, or if he’s simply croaked the same questioning word into every space he’s entered.
He wants the world to be ending, as rocked as he is by this sense of loss, by this weightless, endless sense of pain. He wants to fall, helpless and sobbing, against the floor and force all of this out like a sliver, like a bad dream. He can’t. He can’t do any of it.
He simply creeps from room to room, looking but not for some anchor, for his pilot light. The kittens follow along at his heels, and Pemota distant behind them, even her light dimmed (or perhaps that’s just him as well, out of her reach). ”Mel?” His voice is soft, crackly like dry wood on fire, some internal damage still left in a state of disrepair. It’s not even clear if Nate actually sees her at first, or if he’s simply croaked the same questioning word into every space he’s entered.
I just want them
To mean something
To mean something
