one -- of us .| noir
Sept 5, 2015 22:14:46 GMT -5
Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Sept 5, 2015 22:14:46 GMT -5
[presto][/presto]
The starlight that filters through the window above my bed offers little solace -- no comfort from the dead earth trapped within the confides of my two lungs, or from the screams of a dead family that ricochet off the marrow of my skull. A mother, a father, and a brother interlock their fingers with my own, and in a circle we dance, flowers in our hair, but-...
It's all just a dream; a simple recollection of a memory that never got the chance to form, and I sputter awake with an arch of my back, my chest nearly piercing the heavens. My breath is shallow for one, two, three seconds, but eventually I inhale, and I'm reminded that I am alive. I fall back down to the ground, and I'm still breathing, and I'm still bleeding, and I'm still falling apart. I lie awake, staring up at the faint lights that stick to the ceiling above me, fingertips brushing across the blankets beneath my body. I think, 'Why am I alive?" But it's a common question that I ask myself in the dead of the night, so my mind doesn't bother to answer it.
(Life's terrifying, I've realized; to die would be an awfully grand adventure.)
My body lies silent, the light layer of sweat on my forehead nearly dry, and for once I thank myself for being so resilient to pain. Ms. Gray had dragged me from the chasms of Hell, just to push me into a mortal fire -- telling me to be grateful; telling a small child suddenly all alone in the world to love a woman who just wouldn't let her
d isappear
i nto
e xistence
like the rest of her family. Death is forever a lingering thought on my mind, and I'm fine with that curse. Ms. Gray calls it survivor's guilt, but I call it the pressure of her slender fingers poking into my ribcage, fishing out my organs just to say that I'm okay; that everything vital is still working, so that I should stop crying myself to sleep -- "Stop trying to make an armor out of your broken innocence because there's no one you need to protect yourself from," as she slashes my throat with her sword.
I reach a hand upwards, towards the dim light that's been the only constant thing in my life. Always out of touch, and always coaxing me to just-... Smash! Shards of glass suddenly rain down from above me, and I dash out of my bed to a corner of my room. I hold my tongue, biting back a scream as a figure pulls itself through my window, dropping down onto the floor. They're dressed in black, and their face is hidden by a dark mask, just a few strands of startling silver hair showing here and there. I press myself against the wall, not sure if this is just a new nightmare to add to the rest, or something different -- but I keep myself quiet. I'd rather face a killer of the night than wake Ms. Gray.
"Who are you?" I whisper, feeling slightly bare in my tank top and shorts, blonde hair falling across my face. "What do you want?" I'm just a child who grew up much too fast -- no kingdoms have I ever got the chance to rule, and no dragons have I ever faced. Death isn't an adventure; I've been dead for years.
(To live would be the greatest adventure.)
The starlight that filters through the window above my bed offers little solace -- no comfort from the dead earth trapped within the confides of my two lungs, or from the screams of a dead family that ricochet off the marrow of my skull. A mother, a father, and a brother interlock their fingers with my own, and in a circle we dance, flowers in our hair, but-...
It's all just a dream; a simple recollection of a memory that never got the chance to form, and I sputter awake with an arch of my back, my chest nearly piercing the heavens. My breath is shallow for one, two, three seconds, but eventually I inhale, and I'm reminded that I am alive. I fall back down to the ground, and I'm still breathing, and I'm still bleeding
(Life's terrifying, I've realized; to die would be an awfully grand adventure.)
My body lies silent, the light layer of sweat on my forehead nearly dry, and for once I thank myself for being so resilient to pain. Ms. Gray had dragged me from the chasms of Hell, just to push me into a mortal fire -- telling me to be grateful; telling a small child suddenly all alone in the world to love a woman who just wouldn't let her
d isappear
i nto
e xistence
like the rest of her family. Death is forever a lingering thought on my mind, and I'm fine with that curse. Ms. Gray calls it survivor's guilt, but I call it the pressure of her slender fingers poking into my ribcage, fishing out my organs just to say that I'm okay; that everything vital is still working, so that I should stop crying myself to sleep -- "Stop trying to make an armor out of your broken innocence because there's no one you need to protect yourself from," as she slashes my throat with her sword.
I reach a hand upwards, towards the dim light that's been the only constant thing in my life. Always out of touch, and always coaxing me to just-... Smash! Shards of glass suddenly rain down from above me, and I dash out of my bed to a corner of my room. I hold my tongue, biting back a scream as a figure pulls itself through my window, dropping down onto the floor. They're dressed in black, and their face is hidden by a dark mask, just a few strands of startling silver hair showing here and there. I press myself against the wall, not sure if this is just a new nightmare to add to the rest, or something different -- but I keep myself quiet. I'd rather face a killer of the night than wake Ms. Gray.
"Who are you?" I whisper, feeling slightly bare in my tank top and shorts, blonde hair falling across my face. "What do you want?" I'm just a child who grew up much too fast -- no kingdoms have I ever got the chance to rule, and no dragons have I ever faced. Death isn't an adventure; I've been dead for years.
(To live would be the greatest adventure.)