DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos was not ordinarily drawn to the aspects of the Rainbow Road – more or less the notions of curiosity ended with the vibrant hues and the prismatic colors, but they grew steadily more vibrant as the two men walked. His arms already plied with fruits taken from the jungle, scoured and snagged in the warmth of the spring, he took a few moments of silence. The quiet threaded around him like a noose; unusual, given his natural state of hushed, overly reticent air, but circumstances as of late knotted and gnarled far more than his liking.
Because he thought he’d healed and moved on and had ceased laboring under circumstances that had damned and consumed him in years and seasons prior. But apparently they knew how to pluck over well-worn lacerations and scars, reopening, resurging, inwardly until the trepidation coiled in its unseemly haze.
“I wanted to apologize,” he noted to Noah as they headed to the shrine, brow furrowing, nose wrinkling in distaste for his own actions. “I thought I was well past all of…that.” Sorrow, hurt, for being abandoned and forsaken, for not being enough, for coming and going in life in between the painful hazes.
Because he thought he’d healed and moved on and had ceased laboring under circumstances that had damned and consumed him in years and seasons prior. But apparently they knew how to pluck over well-worn lacerations and scars, reopening, resurging, inwardly until the trepidation coiled in its unseemly haze.
“I wanted to apologize,” he noted to Noah as they headed to the shrine, brow furrowing, nose wrinkling in distaste for his own actions. “I thought I was well past all of…that.” Sorrow, hurt, for being abandoned and forsaken, for not being enough, for coming and going in life in between the painful hazes.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
