DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
He waited for the pain that didn’t come, but the words were enough. An immediate response was to try and retreat, slide into the primordial abyss of nothingness – where they couldn’t reach, where they couldn’t pierce. But that was what he’d always done. And it still hurt. It still ached. It simply resided where no one could see, where he could wither and fall apart and no one would be the wiser.
No more feathered jaws and suppressed emotions. No more ramparts. No more walls upon walls upon walls.
“I will try,” he offered; because the difficulty just now, in these small, infinite moments, was almost too much. And maybe that was false and forced too, because he’d said he wouldn’t, couldn’t, hide to her once before, and there he was, and there he’d been, doing the same. It stung and shredded though, and Deimos turned his eyes downward, stared at the stone floor.
Only to lift them at her next set of inquiries, the torment evident now in his features – in the furrowing of his brow, in the sorrow burrowed and buried in his gaze. Her words were remarkably similar to Rexanna, from his dreams, begging for him to take instead of give.
And he hadn’t.
Eerie, in comparison to Hotaru, who asked him to rest.
Which he still had yet to do.
Because his motives in life seemed comprised and composed for the sake of others. To guard. To shelter. To preserve. He’d done it every time there’d been monsters to slay. When there had been sicknesses embedded in their thresholds. When his friends needed him. There and there and there; consistent and constant, a monolith they could rely upon.
And it took him far longer to answer, as his mind tracked over seasons upon seasons. Several came to mind, and they’d been on the tip of his tongue, and then he’d recall they were truly for another – so his jaw unhinged and closed a couple times over. Eventually, when he’d dug back over years, he could respond. “When I asked to be Attuned,” by her, and the words seemed to simmer amidst shame. “All I ever wanted to do was keep those I loved safe.” Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t, and he bore the brunt of those efforts over his shoulders too. And maybe that simply wasn’t enough anymore.
But he did know who he was – and could gaze at her with the slightest of convictions there. “A protector. A defender. A weapon.” A Sword. A Reaper.
No more feathered jaws and suppressed emotions. No more ramparts. No more walls upon walls upon walls.
“I will try,” he offered; because the difficulty just now, in these small, infinite moments, was almost too much. And maybe that was false and forced too, because he’d said he wouldn’t, couldn’t, hide to her once before, and there he was, and there he’d been, doing the same. It stung and shredded though, and Deimos turned his eyes downward, stared at the stone floor.
Only to lift them at her next set of inquiries, the torment evident now in his features – in the furrowing of his brow, in the sorrow burrowed and buried in his gaze. Her words were remarkably similar to Rexanna, from his dreams, begging for him to take instead of give.
And he hadn’t.
Eerie, in comparison to Hotaru, who asked him to rest.
Which he still had yet to do.
Because his motives in life seemed comprised and composed for the sake of others. To guard. To shelter. To preserve. He’d done it every time there’d been monsters to slay. When there had been sicknesses embedded in their thresholds. When his friends needed him. There and there and there; consistent and constant, a monolith they could rely upon.
And it took him far longer to answer, as his mind tracked over seasons upon seasons. Several came to mind, and they’d been on the tip of his tongue, and then he’d recall they were truly for another – so his jaw unhinged and closed a couple times over. Eventually, when he’d dug back over years, he could respond. “When I asked to be Attuned,” by her, and the words seemed to simmer amidst shame. “All I ever wanted to do was keep those I loved safe.” Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t, and he bore the brunt of those efforts over his shoulders too. And maybe that simply wasn’t enough anymore.
But he did know who he was – and could gaze at her with the slightest of convictions there. “A protector. A defender. A weapon.” A Sword. A Reaper.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
