nobody covers for the matador {nemo/tate}
Mar 7, 2015 3:31:33 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Mar 7, 2015 3:31:33 GMT -5
T A T E
And somehow, I always knew it'd end like this. Pain rakes its way throughout my abdomen, several gashes throbbing but I can't quite decipher where the pain is greatest. It has all melded together, so that I can feel the demons' claws sunk into the skin on my back. Feel their gentle tugs and caresses as they pull me
d
o
w
n
And down I go. White hot flames licking at my skin, hellfire sent to punish a dying man.
He's already dead. Figures I'd carve one more notch into my flesh before falling into step with my brother and my mother before him. (It has been so long since they took him away. I can't decide what prospect is more horrifying. That Teddy still breathes, or that he's long dead.) The blood comes quickly, thickly across my cheeks. And the tears spill from the gaping wounds upon my stomach soaking the dark material upon my hips. My body writhes, splashing in the pools of my own blood and in the blood of my attacker, silver jammed gently into his throat.
I can't feel anything anymore. Not the thudding of my heart or the bitter winds against my face. I think it might be raining, or this familiar sound is that of thick red tears sliding down factory drains. Into the oceans that I was never able to see. Into the oceans whose existence has never mattered to me before.
But now they will hold more of myself than I ever have.
And in spite of myself a cry leaves my lips. A pitiful, awful groan slithering between a body turning cold and the harsh night air. Because the pain, an awful, wonderful pain occupies the whole of what was once Tate Seraphim. And I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared of death that I can't help but cling to the final strands of life however persistently I've been asking for death.
It's not that I want to die. I've never wanted to die.
It's that I deserve death for every sin engraved within my body. My scars a chronicle of the lives I've taken and of the numerous ways I deserve to have my own life ripped from my grasp.
This. This fate is tame.
Even as my moans rip into the silent night I know I deserve so much more.
He didn't deserve it. The boy I'd killed. The catalyst for this whole terrible day and for these two terrible deaths (and one that I've been waiting a long time for). He didn't know that his brother (the one already cooling a few feet away from me) had killed one of our best men. Oh, he made it so apparent that he had no clue. His name was Troy, he had blonde hair and the eyes of an angel. Innocent and blue until they weren't. Until I'd kicked the light out of them. And then he screamed until he couldn't. Screamed until I drew thick black thread across his lips and sewed them together so that his last moments were in silence. I stole his last words without so much as the blink of an eye.
It had made sense, then. He took one of ours. We took one of his.
But Troy was innocent.
Until he was dead.
And I remember him because I didn't burn this one. I couldn't erase my sin. I gave him to the boys and they left him on the doorstep of his older brother and let him revel in the death, the one that was all his fault. In the torture his little brother had endured before death.
Troy hated his brother.
He told me before I stuck a knife into his neck.
What bitter irony that his brother met the same fate.
My chest rattle when I breathe, every breath taking so much energy that the corners of my eyes go white with strain. I don't want to go. I deserve this. I really, really do. But I don't want to go.
I wonder how many hours Troy's brother had wasted on me. Trying to find me. To find a name. To find vengeance. Or maybe he just saw me, maybe he smelt the weakness curling off of my skin like sick cologne.
I don't keep a weapon with me, the long nights I stroll around the district.
I don't care enough.
A new wave of pain overcomes me and I curl in on myself, slowly shrinking and shrinking and shrinking into nothingness. I get smaller by the second and soon I will disappear and all the pain will be gone. But I don't want it to go. I don't want to die. I let out another groan, trying to regain control of my numb limbs to no avail. They are already dead, I think.
And I know why I don't want to go. It's a selfish reason really.
I know that my brothers would be better off without me. I know that it'll hurt them but it's better without my constant worrying and holding them too tight against my chest. Because I've been so scared of losing them for so long. It'll hurt them but in the end they'll be glad that I am gone. I've never been as strong as them. I'm the oldest. The weakest. The most flawed.
We all know it but they've never said it.
The blood gushing through my fingers is ink enough across paper pavement.
It's been said.
One more pitiful scream and into the further
i
f
a
l
l
Nemo. My lips wrap around his name, but no sound leaves them. I am a spirit trapped within a corpse. Everything is cold. I cannot feel the ground beneath me as I scream. Nemo. He is why I so selfishly cling to life. Even though I deserve to die and even though I deserve this pain I just want to be with him. And I hope that he knows I love him. I think I have told him enough times.
I'm never going to get to tell him again.
I'm never going to see him again.
Ouch.
I think I've been stabbed again.