i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
There’d been times where he hadn’t been there for her – but that had come from death as well. Perishing amongst the mountains, falling, falling, falling, a form given all it’d had until it simply couldn’t anymore. He hadn’t been able to cease the specious, surreptitious void of Kisamoa and Kaos, to warn her away, to insinuate some level of judgement and sagacity before she’d been claimed by the deceitful false-god. Learning experiences, curves, bends, angles, edges, and then brutality; but that could be said the same for here too. Resurrected and reborn, renewed and revitalized, forced to grow again in twisting durations and recalling spines. Juxtapositions and parallels, similar and comparable, even amidst the ambiguity.
Her hand wasn’t warm on his cheek, but it didn’t really matter. The sentiment was there, and he regarded it with a fond, affectionate smile, half-angled in juvenile predilections lost and found again. And they pulled away but didn’t at the same time – still present, still alive, still tangible, but conspiring things, cherished and loved and conflicted.
Kiada’s journey hadn’t been unlike his own death – though he couldn’t remember much of anything except darkness. He’d been expecting some level of hell, fire and brimstone and disaster, torture for the years of his life where he rendered sin after sin in his protective efforts.
Instead he’d been spit back out. Try again, perhaps the world had called. Still more to do, maybe the earth had shaken and shattered. Not your time yet, son, his father had offered, in a damned hallucination, while he waited for death to come take him again.
But she’d heard a voice, and followed. Followed, followed, followed the very one they’d thought to conquer, to destroy, to defeat. Chose it, so she could return. So she could be with them.
A clever ruse and trick by the Voice – to raise up those they’d lost. To make it all that much more complicated and difficult. To have more of her own staring from the other side. Something in his heart sunk, and he didn’t say it. Didn’t breathe it. Didn’t wish it.
Would he have done the same?
How many times had they clawed their way to the surface, broken out of demolition’s grasp? How many times had they felled another, so that they might seek another day? “Many of you chose life. And that is nothing to be ashamed of.” In case she was; he wasn’t sure. There were no emotions to be felt between them now; all having to be read across features, faces, and voice. His eyes remained focused, tied, to her, striving to extract the notions while leaving his reeling sentiments in place. Perhaps the worst part of all was that he couldn’t talk to Amalia about it. About the things they’d shared and the lives altered now. About what they were going to do – because he didn’t have a clue. “I am glad you are back.” For whatever it was worth, for whatever this was. Stronger, with things missed. Gone. Vacant. Something else due to fill the space.
He tilted his head a fragment, maneuvered his boots across the floor, slid them along the wooden armaments as he altered positions, sat up straighter in his chair, then placed an elbow along the table. “Chulane has Auni. He bonded to him when we went to go find him.” After you had died didn’t make it through the speech, the inflection there clear anyway.
Her hand wasn’t warm on his cheek, but it didn’t really matter. The sentiment was there, and he regarded it with a fond, affectionate smile, half-angled in juvenile predilections lost and found again. And they pulled away but didn’t at the same time – still present, still alive, still tangible, but conspiring things, cherished and loved and conflicted.
Kiada’s journey hadn’t been unlike his own death – though he couldn’t remember much of anything except darkness. He’d been expecting some level of hell, fire and brimstone and disaster, torture for the years of his life where he rendered sin after sin in his protective efforts.
Instead he’d been spit back out. Try again, perhaps the world had called. Still more to do, maybe the earth had shaken and shattered. Not your time yet, son, his father had offered, in a damned hallucination, while he waited for death to come take him again.
But she’d heard a voice, and followed. Followed, followed, followed the very one they’d thought to conquer, to destroy, to defeat. Chose it, so she could return. So she could be with them.
A clever ruse and trick by the Voice – to raise up those they’d lost. To make it all that much more complicated and difficult. To have more of her own staring from the other side. Something in his heart sunk, and he didn’t say it. Didn’t breathe it. Didn’t wish it.
Would he have done the same?
How many times had they clawed their way to the surface, broken out of demolition’s grasp? How many times had they felled another, so that they might seek another day? “Many of you chose life. And that is nothing to be ashamed of.” In case she was; he wasn’t sure. There were no emotions to be felt between them now; all having to be read across features, faces, and voice. His eyes remained focused, tied, to her, striving to extract the notions while leaving his reeling sentiments in place. Perhaps the worst part of all was that he couldn’t talk to Amalia about it. About the things they’d shared and the lives altered now. About what they were going to do – because he didn’t have a clue. “I am glad you are back.” For whatever it was worth, for whatever this was. Stronger, with things missed. Gone. Vacant. Something else due to fill the space.
He tilted his head a fragment, maneuvered his boots across the floor, slid them along the wooden armaments as he altered positions, sat up straighter in his chair, then placed an elbow along the table. “Chulane has Auni. He bonded to him when we went to go find him.” After you had died didn’t make it through the speech, the inflection there clear anyway.
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
