Oh, how wrong we were to think That immortality meant never dying
Silence stretches out, warm and expectant at first, but growing cold and stale quickly. He is the only living thing in this place, and he’s not even alive. Flies crawl around him in his minds eyes, picking at a meal that has been stretched out for what seems like hours, though the guests never arrived.
Nate sits in the cold and damp and lonely long enough for frost to tug at his sleeves, sensors warning him his fingers have almost lost responsiveness. “Oh.” Oh. It echoes back at him in a dozen voices that are just different enough from his own to grate on his ears. He doesn’t see the figure in the obsidian anymore, doesn’t see anything except a dark smear, doesn’t see anything. “This again.”
It takes longer than he would have thought for the sounds of water trickling become a white noise buzz again, his words washed away by the current. Nate pushes himself to his feet, standing carefully to keep from making another sound. “Fuck you.” Nate’s venom is reflected back at him in a dozen nasty voices, chasing at Nate’s heels as he steps away.
By the time he leaves the underground, feet following the path back to the VlamVloed automatically, the fluid tracks have frozen on his face, so pale it’s nearly blue. His hands are jammed in the pockets of his coat, a single set of holographic arms wrapped tightly around his chest, lighting his way home under the dark sky.
Done.
Nate sits in the cold and damp and lonely long enough for frost to tug at his sleeves, sensors warning him his fingers have almost lost responsiveness. “Oh.” Oh. It echoes back at him in a dozen voices that are just different enough from his own to grate on his ears. He doesn’t see the figure in the obsidian anymore, doesn’t see anything except a dark smear, doesn’t see anything. “This again.”
It takes longer than he would have thought for the sounds of water trickling become a white noise buzz again, his words washed away by the current. Nate pushes himself to his feet, standing carefully to keep from making another sound. “Fuck you.” Nate’s venom is reflected back at him in a dozen nasty voices, chasing at Nate’s heels as he steps away.
By the time he leaves the underground, feet following the path back to the VlamVloed automatically, the fluid tracks have frozen on his face, so pale it’s nearly blue. His hands are jammed in the pockets of his coat, a single set of holographic arms wrapped tightly around his chest, lighting his way home under the dark sky.
Done.
NATE
