These shots don't ricochet

Iskra

BREATHE IT IN, IT'S JUST SNOW, WE'RE JUST FALLING
WE WON'T ALWAYS FREE FALL BACK TO NOTHING

His anger simmered, balled in his fist, and steadily dissipated into the tabletop in waves. Now that he'd said it out loud, now that he'd let these feelings rise to the surface and remain instead of hurriedly pushing them down into his depths, he didn't understand how they'd had such a hold over him.

"She died." he heard himself saying again and inside a voice asked, so?
How many had died since? What of his siblings - of his friends - did they still live?
He should have been there, then he'd know. Why had he run? Scared... of what?
He was not a child anymore damnit, he couldn't keep hiding behind his mother.

Her touch grazed him and he inhaled suddenly, the sound audible as his gaze lifted from the haze of self-hatred back to the halo of fire that framed her lovely face. He did not respond at first, not audibly anyway, just that whisper of a smile for a moment as he considered, opening his hand to clasp hers. He'd been worried about the past for so long, that he hadn't considered the future much beyond the current day's rising. "Making amends," he finally admitted, leaning forward into the table more, towards her. "Enough about me," he'd need time to reassemble all his splintered bits into something whole, but at least it felt like that was possible now. "What have you been up to after all this time?" He nodded at a waiter who passed, asking for another drink, but one he wasn't planning to use to numb himself for once.

I'M JUST STARTING TO LEARN
I'VE ALWAYS BEEN CHASING GHOSTS