and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24) +--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81) +---- Forum: Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=98) +----- Forum: The Deserts (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=19) +----- Thread: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any (/showthread.php?tid=5215) |
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and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - Kingslay - 12-12-2015 KINGSLAY If tranquility ever existed in this world, he quells it quickly, suffocates it like he suffocates everything else. Like he suffocated her. He buries the quiet beneath the cacophonous echo of crackling heat and flames, buries it like he’d buried the words she spoke the last time that he saw her (before he turned his back). He can feel hunger stirring in his gut, and the flames along his back burn hotter for it. It’s as though there are landmines existing just below the surface of the golden yellow sand, because as he moves forwards explosions sound along the borders of the kingdom that he leaves in his wake like dust. It isn’t the only thing that follows him – above a watchful lone raven circles overhead, and it dives through the smoke and flames as though it is made of them (it is – he has straia to thank for it). Every crack that splits the skies into halves, and every blast that shoots ash and smoke into the air (like the eruptions of magnificent volcanoes) sends monstrous glass sheets jutting out from the dunes in irregular angles, and they look just like the tongues of flames. They will survive this siege, even if he doesn’t. They will reflect the images of things he won’t ever say out loud. ‘I love you, Kingslay,’ she had said, and he had said nothing, stirred by the rustle in the leaves that meant something was living that he could end – because he wanted her in ways that he had never wanted before. He wants her alive. He wants her in the ways he isn’t supposed to want. He wants her in ways that don’t make sense, even with all the instinct that burns through his bones. He wants her cut open. He wants to watch the life pour out of her eyes. He wants to love her. He wants to know what that feels like. He wants to curl up in her innards. He wants to know her. He wants to devour her. “Etro,” he says, the first name he ever spoke. He wants to find her. That’s why he has come. And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee. RE: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - munroe - 12-14-2015 I'm sorry I'm such a bully, Ima :|
RE: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - Kingslay - 12-20-2015 KINGSLAY He only hears the jarring ring of the chaos that he crafts. He doesn’t hear the quiet that settles in the space between explosions. He has never noticed the way the air can seem to stand still sometimes – the sound of nothing, the sound of warning, the sounds that light the desert now in overexposed white flashes like a beacon. If he had, maybe he could have seen the silent warning in her eyes. If he had, maybe he would have told her: ‘Yes.’ But it doesn’t end. It can’t end. It won’t end until he has her. That’s the way that it works, an instinct bred into him so deep you’ll find it in his marrow; he does not stop – he is not made for it. There is nothing of his mother left inside of him. It died out along the river’s shore like she did, bled into the sand like the last warm pieces of her, his humanity. There is nothing left of him to acknowledge the goodbye she whispered in the meadow, when the hurt in her eyes was palpable and he still could not see it. It doesn’t end. It can’t end. But it will never be right. She knows it even if he never will. She doesn’t come first. She can’t come first. He isn’t made for it, and that truth runs as deep as his instinct. He is made from carnage, for carnage. He is made for the rattle of explosions that leave the sounds of flatlines in his ears. He is made for breaking bones, and burning flesh, and not for her. But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And it doesn’t make sense that there is nothing to burn and the flames rise so much higher. They feed off him like he is made of gasoline, and in his wake they whirl in helixes and leave glass spirals that reach out into a slate grey sky with sharp and glittering edges. “Etro,” he says again, the syllables heavy like the smoke that stains the sky dark. And as soon as the name falls from his tongue this second time, something else replaces it – the metallic taste of blood – because the sand suddenly is running red with it as a crumbling body falls into his path. A cough splatters blood that lands in droplets that bead and slide down his cheek. If he has harbored any resolve until this moment it is lost now as his head turns aslant, and hunger claws at his belly and threatens to open him up from the inside out. She doesn’t come first. She can’t come first. He isn’t made for it. He is made for what follows. He is made to move toward the body, head aslant. He is made for the climb of temperature that will leave sweat beading and rolling off both of their bodies. He is made for the crack of lightening that splits the sky. He is a reaper. He is death. He is made for that. And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee. RE: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - Yael - 12-21-2015 yael ... angry Yael is ANGRY RE: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - munroe - 01-05-2016 We've become desolate. It's not enough, it never is. Living is hard enough without you fucking up. His unfocused eyes tried to warn this monster off his path, to disregard his obvious frailty, and decide to pursue another less harmless prey. The key to survival was bluffing one’s actual strength – making the contender think that they just might possibly lose the confrontation. That one little seed of doubt would poke holes into one’s confidence and give the wild child an even better chance at simply walking away from a confrontation that just might dissipate instead of coming to fruition. But his pathetic show of intimidation was barely a ping on this monster’s radar. Hazel eyes could hardly remain open and his body dangerously swayed back and forth. He was a mere rabbit before a ravenous wolf – laughably easy prey before a heartless beast. The wild child could sense the hungry intent of the stranger as he took steps towards him and he could feel the sudden uncomfortable rise in temperature that accompanied the beast as he was stalked. An angry roar strikes through the air, thunder to follow after the lightning that had just split the sky. Before his eyes, a looming shape grows into a wrathful dragon. But Munroe does not fear this creature. He’s come to accept the wonders of the desert and this dragon was a fantastical guardian to his eyes. He watches with a sense of smugness when the monster is belittled and changed into a mere insect – a tiny speck amongst the vastness of the golden sands. His bloodied mouth rises into a smile filled with glee in return of the creature’s teasing wink. He begins to shiver violently while he patiently awaited the monster’s fate. Eventually, the insect was released and allowed to take its previous shape. Meanwhile, his beloved Ima shed her reptilian skin and turned towards him. He eagerly begins to stumble towards her with welcoming eyes. The monster could be disregarded in his mind now. Ima was there to chase away all the monsters now. “Ima!” MUNROE it's easy to fall apart completely RE: and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be; any - Kingslay - 01-24-2016 KINGSLAY
He forgets what he comes for. He forgets the girl with the plain brown eyes. He forgets her like he forgot her in the meadow, when he ran and she told him she would think of him still. He forgets her for the blood that slides down his cheek and sets every nerve ending on fire. He forgets her for the rattle of a frantic pulse thrumming through the veins of a stranger’s neck. He forgets her, even though he wants her in ways he hasn’t wanted before. He forgets her, even though he wants her alive, wants her cut open, wants her near, wants to curl up in her innards – wants her. He forgets her, because this is what he lives for. Because this is what he is made of; the pieces that he gives himself to, the pieces she can never understand because there are no monsters buried in her bones that stretch out underneath her skin. He is a reaper. He is death. He is a god, and she is just a girl. He breathes these moments deep into his lungs, and something in him feeds off the panic it tastes mingling with the oxygen. And she is still just a girl. The air is on fire now, and it climbs hotter in fractions of seconds. He wants to boil his blood until the veins cauterize. He wants to watch his eyes bubble and spill gel before they roll back into his skull. He wants to see the flesh fall away from his bones like cooked meat. ‘I love you, Kingslay,’ she had said, but he forgets. He remembers blood. He remembers glass. He remembers heat. He watches him quake, and they are skin-to-skin, teeth-to-neck, flame-to-flesh. And then suddenly they are not. He hasn’t heard the roar above the clamor of his own haughty arrogance and the sharp burn of gluttony. He doesn’t know she’s come until he is small against her teeth, settled on her tongue with a body that doesn’t belong as his. He should fear her, maybe, but these aren’t pieces alive in him. Instead he feels the heat of her breath. Instead he hears the thrum of her heart. Instead he salivates internally for a murder that he cannot commit in this shape, and he writhes as he aches. He thinks about melting her bones. He thinks about spilling her open from the inside out, and the hunger, it feels like acid in his gut. But it doesn’t last. He sees the slate-grey haze of smoke again, and bone by bone his body changes. He would writhe again with agony if the feel of bones changing and skin stretching was not so familiar already. “Bring her to me,” he says when he has at last a voice to say it with, and this time he looks to Yael. And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee. i am sorry for making you wait so long ;_; |