I was a poor boy; you were a bright light
I was a sinner and you were a snake
His existence has always incited the most interesting responses in others. Those who seem infuriated that he would die—whether because they cannot believe a world so stubborn it could kill even him or frustrated that they were not the one to shove the knife in him, he could never be sure—and those who are incredulous that he would be so bitter about it. Not sad. Not angry. Just bitter that it had happened. That it had not stuck. That death followed him and nipped at his heels and left him this broken, jagged thing.
He had not bravely fought death off; he had walked into it.
He had not bravely scarified himself; he had given up.
Brigade has to live with these shortcomings constantly, and he feels them now like burrs in his side as he stares at her. As her expression flickers and fades, unreadable and untouchable as she has always been. “I mean that I ceased to exist,” he deadpans and he feels skin flinch along his spine, a shudder that races down it—the only sign that he is uncomfortable with this conversation, even though he had brought it up.
“Even death did not want me for long though,” the bitterness is acute and his smile is tight, the muscles working in his jaw. He shakes his head, the tangled matts of his mane sticking to his thick neck and framing the face that could be handsome if it were not so stern, so angry. “I do not blame it.”
A shrug and a roll of his shoulder as he watches her from beneath his forelock.
“You are perhaps the only person to be happy for it,” he lies, because it’s easier to think that then focus on those who would potentially be relieved. His sister. His parents. Those he has pushed away over the years.
“I’m glad you have been alive though,” he admits, and he is surprised by the confession. Surprised by the way that his voice softens a little. He frowns without thinking, curious at what prompted him to say such a thing, and he does his best to cover up with a short laugh. “Painful as it might be.”
shook like some old souls when our bones broke
swallowed the sickness, a fever, a flame
