ringing silence [ curtus + efram + bell ] day 4
Nov 5, 2019 16:30:28 GMT -5
Post by Kire on Nov 5, 2019 16:30:28 GMT -5
Curtus Dolor
He said "Son, have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say if I said that you could?
Just carry this gun and you'll even get paid"
I said "That sounds pretty good"
He said "Son, have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say if I said that you could?
Finally he had done it. For a last time he swung his weapon, and caught Fangor deep in the flesh of his remaining arm. The boy, overcome now by exhaustion and bloodloss, fell to the ground. Curt watched as he fumbled with his pocket and pulled out some object. Feeling as though he was intruding, he backed away from Fangor until he had given the boy space to die in private. There was no question now, he was dying. The long-handled weapon in his hand had helped him kill yet another person.
He was staring into the water, watching it roll over the riverbank but not hold enough power to turn the wheel of the mill. The boom of the cannon made him raise his head and turn toward the now still form of Fangor. Letting out a small discontented sigh, he went over to pilfer the boy he had killed.
He found a new bundle of firewood and some extra bandages. Seeing that the mini cornucopia that served as his bag was pretty full he pulled the extra garments that he had been keeping out and dropped them to the ground. He then moved away from the body, back into the shelter of the mill.
Inside now, he went to look around and see what he could find that might be useful. Leather aprons hung on hooks on one wall and black tar sat in large jars around the place. He took one of the aprons and placed it around his neck, tying it around the back. This might stop his chest from becoming any more battered than it already was. The empty jar he had carried around finally had a use by serving as a more manageable vessel for the tar than what the current containers were.
As he went to explore further, he whacked his head on something. Looking to see what it was he found he had crashed into a large bell. The deep ringing filled his head and he reached up to steady it. The bell stopped moving but the ringing continued - if a little quieter now. Shaking his head, he continued to wander around the building.
Not finding anything else he needed, he sat himself down on the stairs once again - like before the fight with Fangor - and set about bandaging himself up. Taking care to wrap his neck wound and use the plants he had picked as a poultice for some of his other wounds, he let himself rest.
That's two people now that I've killed. He shrugged awkwardly, uncomfortable with the truth but unable to cast it aside. In this place of kill or be killed he should not be surprised that it had come to this. The victors had gone through this before, even if it was a somewhat different version of hell than this one. They had all killed. To survive for any length of time you had to watch others die, and more than likely you would have to be the one to kill them. He was simply taking steps that others hadn't been able to. Fangor would have willingly taken his life had he managed it, so for him to slay the boy instead was a matter of survival, an action that morality could not get in the way of.
He had given the boy mercy in the end. By ending his pain - perhaps not as immediately or gently as he might have - he had done some small service to him. Maybe a better service would have been to die but the past was set now and nothing could take back his final blow. He realized that he had come to terms with what he had done in some small part - he wouldn't change the outcome if he could go back, just maybe the execution.
The ringing still hadn't faded from his mind, as though the bell continued to ring inside of his skull, a neverending bong bong bong that was as annoying as it was soothing. The deep tone was repetitive, but constant. Will I hear this for the rest of my life? However long that is? The unceasing sound seemed to answer yes yes yes. "Fuck." The word was unenthusiastic, resigned, if this was how things were then he would be stuck like this with no way to change it. Maybe at the end he would wish he was dead after all.
Bong ... bong ... bong
He wondered if he would be able to sleep with that racket always playing in his mind. To make sure it truly was only in his head he looked up at the large bell that he had run into, trying to see if it was still swinging, still chiming. The bell was still, the physical thing as silent as it had been before he had disturbed it. This really was all in his head.
With a groan he tried to make himself more comfortable on his perch on the stairs, hoping he would be able to hear if someone came in over the endless sound of the bell. Tired and not unscathed, he found that his eyelids began to drift shut. The ringing seemed to retreat slightly but it never went away completely. As he fell into a doze he began to find the sound peaceful and it lulled him fully to sleep.
He was staring into the water, watching it roll over the riverbank but not hold enough power to turn the wheel of the mill. The boom of the cannon made him raise his head and turn toward the now still form of Fangor. Letting out a small discontented sigh, he went over to pilfer the boy he had killed.
He found a new bundle of firewood and some extra bandages. Seeing that the mini cornucopia that served as his bag was pretty full he pulled the extra garments that he had been keeping out and dropped them to the ground. He then moved away from the body, back into the shelter of the mill.
Inside now, he went to look around and see what he could find that might be useful. Leather aprons hung on hooks on one wall and black tar sat in large jars around the place. He took one of the aprons and placed it around his neck, tying it around the back. This might stop his chest from becoming any more battered than it already was. The empty jar he had carried around finally had a use by serving as a more manageable vessel for the tar than what the current containers were.
As he went to explore further, he whacked his head on something. Looking to see what it was he found he had crashed into a large bell. The deep ringing filled his head and he reached up to steady it. The bell stopped moving but the ringing continued - if a little quieter now. Shaking his head, he continued to wander around the building.
Not finding anything else he needed, he sat himself down on the stairs once again - like before the fight with Fangor - and set about bandaging himself up. Taking care to wrap his neck wound and use the plants he had picked as a poultice for some of his other wounds, he let himself rest.
That's two people now that I've killed. He shrugged awkwardly, uncomfortable with the truth but unable to cast it aside. In this place of kill or be killed he should not be surprised that it had come to this. The victors had gone through this before, even if it was a somewhat different version of hell than this one. They had all killed. To survive for any length of time you had to watch others die, and more than likely you would have to be the one to kill them. He was simply taking steps that others hadn't been able to. Fangor would have willingly taken his life had he managed it, so for him to slay the boy instead was a matter of survival, an action that morality could not get in the way of.
He had given the boy mercy in the end. By ending his pain - perhaps not as immediately or gently as he might have - he had done some small service to him. Maybe a better service would have been to die but the past was set now and nothing could take back his final blow. He realized that he had come to terms with what he had done in some small part - he wouldn't change the outcome if he could go back, just maybe the execution.
The ringing still hadn't faded from his mind, as though the bell continued to ring inside of his skull, a neverending bong bong bong that was as annoying as it was soothing. The deep tone was repetitive, but constant. Will I hear this for the rest of my life? However long that is? The unceasing sound seemed to answer yes yes yes. "Fuck." The word was unenthusiastic, resigned, if this was how things were then he would be stuck like this with no way to change it. Maybe at the end he would wish he was dead after all.
Bong ... bong ... bong
He wondered if he would be able to sleep with that racket always playing in his mind. To make sure it truly was only in his head he looked up at the large bell that he had run into, trying to see if it was still swinging, still chiming. The bell was still, the physical thing as silent as it had been before he had disturbed it. This really was all in his head.
With a groan he tried to make himself more comfortable on his perch on the stairs, hoping he would be able to hear if someone came in over the endless sound of the bell. Tired and not unscathed, he found that his eyelids began to drift shut. The ringing seemed to retreat slightly but it never went away completely. As he fell into a doze he began to find the sound peaceful and it lulled him fully to sleep.
Just carry this gun and you'll even get paid"
I said "That sounds pretty good"
lyrics from Hero of War by Rise Against
