DEIMOS
He didn’t deserve their kindness, knew it deep down in the cracks in his ribs and the scars on his heart; thought about shaking his head, but everything else was too dizzying already, and the words wouldn’t come out. They were held there, against the back of his throat, and he could feel them brimming and brewing along his skin, dying from within, like knives and stilettos, like cutlasses and blades, slashing and tearing him to ribbons. Maybe he’d fall apart there, when his flesh was exposed and torn, and they wouldn’t have to carry him any longer.
Carry him; because he was weak and pathetic. Because he couldn’t do it on his own anymore.
His skull burrowed against his chest and he stared at the ground as they managed to move, as the sickness drove its way through his soul and found measures of nothingness there – unraveling at the seams, unfurling at the strands, watching as the threads loosened and fell upon the eternal snow.
You have to learn to rise; and when? When was he supposed to do that? How? When everything consistently fell apart?
There were buzzing words around his cranium, and they echoed and bounded, back and forth, some he could grab hold of, some he could understand. Something about Loren and the palace, something that sounded like comfort in hell, and he quietly murmured into the expanse, uncertain if it would reach their ears. “You are good friends.” And they marched, and he dragged along, and maybe they were closer – he couldn’t tell anymore. Had he been here before?
Zuriel understood, but didn’t like the implications. Her ears pinned back briefly, the modicum of irritation bristling in the shake of her tail, directing the nuances and notions to Auni, in hopes they’d be repeated via bonds. Not leaving him was direct and clear, adamant and defiant.
Carry him; because he was weak and pathetic. Because he couldn’t do it on his own anymore.
His skull burrowed against his chest and he stared at the ground as they managed to move, as the sickness drove its way through his soul and found measures of nothingness there – unraveling at the seams, unfurling at the strands, watching as the threads loosened and fell upon the eternal snow.
You have to learn to rise; and when? When was he supposed to do that? How? When everything consistently fell apart?
There were buzzing words around his cranium, and they echoed and bounded, back and forth, some he could grab hold of, some he could understand. Something about Loren and the palace, something that sounded like comfort in hell, and he quietly murmured into the expanse, uncertain if it would reach their ears. “You are good friends.” And they marched, and he dragged along, and maybe they were closer – he couldn’t tell anymore. Had he been here before?
Zuriel understood, but didn’t like the implications. Her ears pinned back briefly, the modicum of irritation bristling in the shake of her tail, directing the nuances and notions to Auni, in hopes they’d be repeated via bonds. Not leaving him was direct and clear, adamant and defiant.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
