DEIMOS
Had there been a time when he wasn’t drowning? That he wasn’t scrambling for the surface, head slightly above the darkness, lungs grasping greedily for air? It’d always been a suffocating weight on his chest, on his shoulders, on his existence, a sculpting, a harpooning, a carving along scars inward and outward, lined upon his skin. The silence wasn’t damning, at least not from him, a normal circumstance when he was trying so desperately to tread water. But everything hurt, and his jaw remained still, arms going around her, clenching, cherishing, offering what he could; his cheek pressed into the top of her gilded crown, long, extended breaths filling the void.
And then more and more and more; images flashing through his mind that were not his own, and he stared, peering into their depths. Laughter and warmth, grief and vanquishing, matching accords for days extended in bliss and harmony, shuttered thereafter on other quandaries and enigmas. The release of his own were entangled and warped in boyhood stretches across the sea, running, rampaging along dampened sands with his friends, the crying of gulls beneath patchworks of moonlight; his father’s pride when he’d signed up for the militia, his mother’s stern, reticent stare. Being knocked to the ground multiple times when he first wielded wooden blades, laughing amongst his fellow-would be warriors as they trained, as they played, as they pretended to be something they’d eventually regret, cherish, or die within. Kneeling before a shrine, begging for Huyana to be healed, head bowed, hands pressed into the earth, grabbing hold of grass like a lifeline, like a tether, as his pleas were ignored.
It exhausted him further, to relive it all. His mind felt empty of its machinations, of its calculations, of its experiences, drawn and drained, so his vessel was a lifeless thing, clinging to particles and Shields. The hope that followed, followed, followed filled in those gaping holes and fissures, springing along a skull once filled with so many Machiavellian properties. They resembled contentment, happiness, moments he’d had so few and far between – arms around her tighter, reassurance in the encouraging, inspiring whims, something they could grasp, they could hold, they could unfurl for themselves.
The last notes, however, seemed to slide along the wake in a torrent of confusion. He lifted his head off of hers, stepping back only to stare down at her. “Quite a discovery. What happened?” An invitation to explain, if she was so willing – presuming she’d been an only child, something else had been snatched and snagged in the whirlwind of lives.
And then more and more and more; images flashing through his mind that were not his own, and he stared, peering into their depths. Laughter and warmth, grief and vanquishing, matching accords for days extended in bliss and harmony, shuttered thereafter on other quandaries and enigmas. The release of his own were entangled and warped in boyhood stretches across the sea, running, rampaging along dampened sands with his friends, the crying of gulls beneath patchworks of moonlight; his father’s pride when he’d signed up for the militia, his mother’s stern, reticent stare. Being knocked to the ground multiple times when he first wielded wooden blades, laughing amongst his fellow-would be warriors as they trained, as they played, as they pretended to be something they’d eventually regret, cherish, or die within. Kneeling before a shrine, begging for Huyana to be healed, head bowed, hands pressed into the earth, grabbing hold of grass like a lifeline, like a tether, as his pleas were ignored.
It exhausted him further, to relive it all. His mind felt empty of its machinations, of its calculations, of its experiences, drawn and drained, so his vessel was a lifeless thing, clinging to particles and Shields. The hope that followed, followed, followed filled in those gaping holes and fissures, springing along a skull once filled with so many Machiavellian properties. They resembled contentment, happiness, moments he’d had so few and far between – arms around her tighter, reassurance in the encouraging, inspiring whims, something they could grasp, they could hold, they could unfurl for themselves.
The last notes, however, seemed to slide along the wake in a torrent of confusion. He lifted his head off of hers, stepping back only to stare down at her. “Quite a discovery. What happened?” An invitation to explain, if she was so willing – presuming she’d been an only child, something else had been snatched and snagged in the whirlwind of lives.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
