DEIMOS
A muffled breath, a harsh sigh, the fight leaving him, stringing him along out of habit and routine. Because it was instinctual, for him to clench his jaw, grind his teeth, and carry on – because if he stayed back, if he lingered, if he strayed too far off of those paths, the haunted poignancies bit and chewed, gnarled and gnashed. What else do I have? What other choice was there? What would he do if he were to just shatter there, in this damned room? What would it solve? What would it matter? Because his feelings, his emotions, didn’t seem to bear any weight along these thresholds, where the dead still seemed very much alive, where they continued to survive while friends were frozen solid, decrepit, tucked within a dragon’s treasure room. Because sometimes all he ever had were scraps of knotted munitions, and the ice was too thick, the chilling void too strong, for him to do anything more than stare out at oblivion. He crumbled, he waned, he decayed, and just the façade, the outer walls remained.
Then she bit, and slashed, and his head reared back, the hurt more chiseled, more defined, in the sanction of his piercing eyes, in the rubble and ruin he was destined to leave behind. Her anger was emboldened and audacious, ripping into him far deeper than he longed to acknowledge; the wear and tear of yesterdays and yesteryears just pushing the knives and daggers further in. His hands released her, and he stepped back, support caustic and imbalanced, heart weighing heavy in his chest. She didn’t have need of him. His voice raised to barely a whisper, barely a rumble. “I do not know what you want from me.” His fingers shook as he retreated, head bowed, leaden, iron and stone, into his chest, control barely there, no longer a necessity along these thresholds, clear and plain to see. “But I do not deserve your malice.” After everything he’d done for her –
He disappeared, back into the thresholds of the front room, where light poured in from windows, where it simmered and set along empty tables. There, sitting amongst the vast array of things gone, vanquished, and depleted, he pulled up a chair and sat, struggling to regain composure over his breathing, arms raised along the surface to catch his head, to hide the wealth of agony rampaging behind his eyes.
Then she bit, and slashed, and his head reared back, the hurt more chiseled, more defined, in the sanction of his piercing eyes, in the rubble and ruin he was destined to leave behind. Her anger was emboldened and audacious, ripping into him far deeper than he longed to acknowledge; the wear and tear of yesterdays and yesteryears just pushing the knives and daggers further in. His hands released her, and he stepped back, support caustic and imbalanced, heart weighing heavy in his chest. She didn’t have need of him. His voice raised to barely a whisper, barely a rumble. “I do not know what you want from me.” His fingers shook as he retreated, head bowed, leaden, iron and stone, into his chest, control barely there, no longer a necessity along these thresholds, clear and plain to see. “But I do not deserve your malice.” After everything he’d done for her –
He disappeared, back into the thresholds of the front room, where light poured in from windows, where it simmered and set along empty tables. There, sitting amongst the vast array of things gone, vanquished, and depleted, he pulled up a chair and sat, struggling to regain composure over his breathing, arms raised along the surface to catch his head, to hide the wealth of agony rampaging behind his eyes.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
