"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
11-30-2020, 08:34 PM (This post was last modified: 11-30-2020, 08:34 PM by yadigar.)
YADIGAR
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
He stands on the edge of a crumbling Pangean cliff and he wonders if he would actually die if he dove right off it. The sound of bones snapping like dry branches plays on repeat within his mind. His leathery wings spread and with a single flap, he is airborne. A second flap begins his ascent as he decides to leave his homeland for the day instead of teasing himself with the idea of death.
The burn wounds across his face are healing, albeit slowly. The scab itches and he can tell it’s nearly ready to slough away and reveal fresh scar tissue to match the other missing eye. As his wings skim across the tops of fat white clouds, he pulls his talons up against his body to make the wind glide smoother over him. He misses the way the wind still managed to make his blind eye cry all those involuntary tears, if he’s being honest. It was the only thing that made him cry at all, anymore.
With all these troublesome thoughts rattling around in his head, he almost forgets that he had a destination in mind until he sees the river snaking over the land beneath him. Yadigar tucks his wings and tips his head down to begin a sharp descent. (From this height, certainly, he would not survive.) He extends his legs and spreads his talons while his wings suddenly spring open and give one, two flaps to steady his landing.
The ground meets him with a heavy thud. The river mud forms a perfect imprint of his claws once he moves on. His spiked tail swings lazily behind him as he eases into the river current, a hissing breath catching between his teeth at the cold waters. He will gradually acclimate to this chill, he knows, so he continues on until the current runs across his back.
Then he sighs and enjoys the summer sun across his scaled face.
12-04-2020, 01:36 PM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2020, 01:36 PM by Rapture.)
She is a ghost drifting along the Tephran shores. Or nearly so, betrayed only be the footprints she leaves behind. But even those vanish quickly, washed away by wind and water. The path had become almost familiar, even as hope turned ashen on her tongue day after day.
It would be so much easier to forget. She tries (oh how she tries), but memory is such a stubborn thing. It clings and burrows, ripping open wounds every time she imagines she must be close to discarding them.
But there are so many now, it sometimes grows muddled. She lives for those times. For days like today, when her mind grows hazy, eyes glassy and distant. When she can feel not quite a part of herself, as though she might float away while her body lives on, empty and unfeeling. It is on these days that she finds herself wandering. That the borders of her beach do not feel like a tether holding her in an infinite loop of broken hope.
It isn’t until her hooves sink into mud as chilly water licks at pastel blue fetlocks that she returns to herself. She isn’t certain whether it is the water or the distant shadow that snaps her back, but whatever it is, she settles into a breathless stillness as the darkness looms. It is only when the shape resolves, wide wings flaring to slow a rapid descent, that she breathes again.
When he lands, face lifting to the sun, only then does she unravel the cloak of chill around herself, clumsy and unpracticed. Instinct giving way to rational thought. She feels too much like an intruder here. As unwanted and unnecessary as she has been her entire life. It’s so much easier to shrink away, to tuck her head and whisper the apology that comes easily to her lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
He wonders if fish mind the cold of the river or if they enjoy it the way he basks in the desert’s heat. Their little outlines go slipping past his legs and he watches them with mild interest. Maybe they have no concept of temperature at all, the way trees simply survive and care for little else. It seems that he has become much like them as well. Neither despair nor triumph do anything for his mood, anymore.
Yadigar turns his head at the sound of someone else speaking nearby. His thoughts scatter to whatever corner of his mind they call home as his body slowly spins to face her better. He lets his wings bob and float with the river current at his sides as he studies the outline of her warmth. She is a stranger, it seems, meaning he is not inclined to behave in any particular way. But why she apologizes is a mystery to him, he thinks.
“You haven’t intruded,” he says simply, following with a light shrug of his broad shoulders that sends his wings bobbing up over the water’s surface. “Unless you intend to occupy the entire river. That would be a problem, I suppose.”
He jests and yet he forgets to follow it up with a smile and a laugh. Bit by bit, his personality is decaying into something dull and flat. All those little mannerisms fall to the wayside the more he tries to force them into a conversation, it seems.
“My name is Yadigar. What’s yours?” he asks, and he manages to offer up a half smile this time.
01-08-2021, 02:28 PM (This post was last modified: 01-08-2021, 02:28 PM by Rapture.)
Sometimes she wonders if her lips have forgotten how to form a smile. It feels as though an eternity has passed since last she wore one. He is kind, but even the friendly words wrapping his humor cannot drag the corners of her lips upwards. Only the softness of her blue eyes betray she had understood his attempt to set her at ease. And though she could not hope to voice as much, she appreciated it.
“No,” she replies quietly, her voice only faintly louder than it had been moments earlier. “The bank should be enough, I think.” Had her voice not trembled as she said it, one could almost mistake her reply for an attempt at a humorous rejoinder. But it seems that has escaped her just as her smile had.
She is not practiced at making conversation. Does not feel the need to fill silence as so many others might. She had always been comfortable in simple companionship, soothed far more by a steady presence than by any words. For all the apathy he couches in half-hearted attempts at humor, he does feel steady. As though he too could stand there for eons in companionable silence.
Blinking, she realizes he had broken the quiet, his introduction hanging in the air between them. She hesitates a moment before responding simply. “Rapture.”
She stares at him for a moment longer, suddenly uncertain if he truly did wish to indulge in small talk. She had never been particularly good at it, and it does not take long for her mind to drift and her eyes to fall from his. She finds herself gazing blankly at his wings, wondering if they were truly as freeing as they appeared. Quite abruptly, the words find her lips as her gaze shifts to the sky. “What is it like up there?” She sighs softly, the volume of her words dropping until they are little more than a whisper. “I always imagine there must be so much freedom.”
