DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
He thought he had been sensible, in between the drinking, the thoughts of vengeance, and everything else scalding against him. But he withstood the barrage after barrage, varnishing the stoic reticence again, folding back in on himself, letting the lecture settle into his mind. “I did not intend to make things more difficult.” Arson had been efficient. It was everything else thereafter. His teeth gnashed together, and he flinched at being called a child, simmering in the bastion of his mistakes, and the cracking, crumbling foundations of things he’d built. It hadn’t been worth it.
But it was the denial, the way she contorted around the subject matter that perhaps told him everything. The pendant didn’t even need to warm itself against his skin. No point in addressing what he’d said previously to Safrin or Ru – the discussion hadn’t even made it that far.
So the monolith shook his head, rather than burying himself deeper and deeper, because he could feel his blood boiling and boiling in his head, and there multitudes of other things to do now – to take his things out of the barracks and simply go. To honor other promises. He stiffened and yielded, bowing his head and rising from his chair. “I did consider you a friend. I always had.” And he felt like he was beginning to swiftly lose them – from speaking his mind, from no longer keeping those peaceful conjectures, for no longer maintaining the status quo. For committing to stupid actions, and for daring to step out of line.
And the Sword didn’t know what anything was now.
A huff of anger and hurt wafted away from his lungs, the bitterness, the rancor, the derision, the suspicion, everything brimming and brewing over the top, and if he didn’t leave, it was just going to become worse. “I apologize,” because there was naught else. Speaking the truth and striving to uncover the barest minimum of lies meant he was attacking. Not showing his regrets meant he was someone else entirely. Deimos fought for control in a place fathoms within; the Reaper thoroughly extinguished. “Thank you for allowing me to serve Halo.” He couldn’t even look at her.
Just turned, and left.
{FIN}
But it was the denial, the way she contorted around the subject matter that perhaps told him everything. The pendant didn’t even need to warm itself against his skin. No point in addressing what he’d said previously to Safrin or Ru – the discussion hadn’t even made it that far.
So the monolith shook his head, rather than burying himself deeper and deeper, because he could feel his blood boiling and boiling in his head, and there multitudes of other things to do now – to take his things out of the barracks and simply go. To honor other promises. He stiffened and yielded, bowing his head and rising from his chair. “I did consider you a friend. I always had.” And he felt like he was beginning to swiftly lose them – from speaking his mind, from no longer keeping those peaceful conjectures, for no longer maintaining the status quo. For committing to stupid actions, and for daring to step out of line.
And the Sword didn’t know what anything was now.
A huff of anger and hurt wafted away from his lungs, the bitterness, the rancor, the derision, the suspicion, everything brimming and brewing over the top, and if he didn’t leave, it was just going to become worse. “I apologize,” because there was naught else. Speaking the truth and striving to uncover the barest minimum of lies meant he was attacking. Not showing his regrets meant he was someone else entirely. Deimos fought for control in a place fathoms within; the Reaper thoroughly extinguished. “Thank you for allowing me to serve Halo.” He couldn’t even look at her.
Just turned, and left.
{FIN}
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
