02-29-2020, 10:14 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .jarris_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/ZnNLMJFh/jarris-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; min-height: 500px; border: solid 3px #24292f; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .jarris_container p { margin: 0; } .jarris_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .jarris_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; background: #24292f; margin-top: 25px; margin-bottom: -50px; border: solid 1px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 29px 1px #000; } .jarris_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #7e868a; padding: 30px; line-height: 1.45em; } .jarris_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; font: 130px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; color: #4b4549; bottom: 30px; right: 0px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000; } .jarris_quote { position: absolute; z-index: 12; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; color: #b3b6b7; bottom: 96px; right: 5px; } </style> <center> <div class="jarris_container"> <div class="jarris_text"> <p class="jarris_message">
It is Kensley who sinks his teeth in first.
Jarris can feel the flesh and muscle bend then give.
He cries out. Or tries to.
But there is a dam of emotion lodged into the space at the base of his aching throat.
No sound comes out at all.
Not as each of his children in turn sink their teeth into him.
And then the lovers.
And then, finally, Plumeria.
It is only then that all that dammed up sound comes rushing up out of him.
An unearthly cry. Because he has died once already and he will die again, he’s so sure of it.
They pull him, drag him, carry him deeper into the center of the earth. It is chaos in the cavern and chaos in his chest and he’s trying to breathe but the sound – startled and primal – keeps pouring out of him in a way that he can’t stop.
<i>Let me be afraid</i>, he begs the bastard heart, which – until now – has focused primarily on beating sorrow through his veins. Panic had seized him at the edge of the river, certainly, it had sunk into the marrow of his bones and festered there. And, could he have screamed as the water took him, he would have. But that fear had been different somehow. Different in a way he did not know how to identify.
It was the fear of dying without Plumeria knowing where he’d gone.
The fear of not being able to protect his daughter, who had died a second time when he’d killed her.
He wants to fear for his <i>life</i>.
And yet, as they drag him down to his death, he knows deep at the center of him that it is not a life worth mourning. They have shown him that.
Because he has done nothing but hurt them – all of them. Even without meaning to. (He never meant to, never had it in him to inflict pain on others for his own personal gain).
So, by the time they drop him on the floor of this new chamber, he has resigned himself to his death.
By the time the first drip of acid sears through his flesh, he knows that he deserves this.
He rises as they retreat. “I’m sorry,” he calls after them, the voice hoarse with emotion. Guilt perhaps the most prevalent. How desperately he wants to call Plumeria back to him, so that he can apologize to her most all. But she does not look back. It is only when they slink into the shadows at the rear of the cavern that he realizes they are not alone.
Or, more specifically, <i>he</i> is not alone because <i>they</i> are gone.
Walked willingly into waiting mouths, each and every one of them.
“No!” he cries, long, drawn out, agonized. But they do not scream as the thing grinds their bones between his teeth and neatly swallows them.
And then, there in that cavern, it is only the two of them.
He cannot make out the shape of the thing. But he knows that it will bring him death. And he wonders, as he stands there and this great and terrible thing reaches for him, if this was how it was always going to end.
There is nothing to fear when there is nothing left worth protecting.
So, the dark tendrils that snake through the him are not terror or panic but something like defeat.
And a blinding grief.
A grief that chases every last ounce of fight right out of him so that when the thing takes him up in its cold, cold tentacle, he does not even squirm. He hangs his weary head as the thing swings him high in the air and he can hear their voices still. <i>Bastard, coward, liar!</i>
Then he is standing on his own feet again, swaying as his vision strobes.
The thing open its mouth, an invitation.
And Jarris stares into all that darkness. And he remembers the way that tears had cut rivers down Plumeria’s cheeks. And how Kensley’s hatred had itched up under his skin. And how the rest of them had looked at him and how fiercely he had loved them all once. And how Kennice had looked at him so sweetly before they’d plunged into that river.
So, he follows them.
He follows them because he sees no other option. Because he’d sworn more than once that he would follow them to the ends of the earth. He had never imagined that this would be what the end of the earth would look like, but he drags in a shuddering breath and he closes his eyes.
There is no peace in his heart.
But there is no fight in it either.
The steps are slow, sluggish as he creeps up into the things mouth. Swallows his disgust as he steps onto its fat tongue and into the stench of death and decay and so many other terrible things, too. But the eyes are closed, even still.
The eyes are closed but it does not matter because he can hear the jaws closing. A faint rumble that draws closer, falls down around him like an embrace. But there is no warmth, no comfort to be found in it. There is one singular moment of stillness before the agony. The pain of being crushed rips another sound out of him, primal, guttural. Snatches it right out of the center of him. It is only then that the body convulses and recoils, as if there is any hope at all of escape. But the spine is the first thing to shatter and the legs give out, paralyzed.
He does not have to open his eyes to see Plumeria, plain as day, watching from the shadow. And the last thing he sees as he dies is that steady stream of tears and all the pain that comes from the bones breaking, snapping, splintering certainly pales in comparison to the pain he has dragged her through.
Were he able to speak, were the lungs not punctured and steadily filling with blood, he might have murmured another apology into the darkness. But there is no sound now save for the sounds his body makes as it gives beneath the pressure. This death is different. There is no peace. Just the agony and then, quite suddenly, there is nothing at all.</div> <div class="jarris_name">jarris</div> <div class="jarris_quote">now I’ve been crazy, couldn’t you tell? I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell</div> <img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/2y1t8pQH/jarris3.png"> </div> </center>
It is Kensley who sinks his teeth in first.
Jarris can feel the flesh and muscle bend then give.
He cries out. Or tries to.
But there is a dam of emotion lodged into the space at the base of his aching throat.
No sound comes out at all.
Not as each of his children in turn sink their teeth into him.
And then the lovers.
And then, finally, Plumeria.
It is only then that all that dammed up sound comes rushing up out of him.
An unearthly cry. Because he has died once already and he will die again, he’s so sure of it.
They pull him, drag him, carry him deeper into the center of the earth. It is chaos in the cavern and chaos in his chest and he’s trying to breathe but the sound – startled and primal – keeps pouring out of him in a way that he can’t stop.
<i>Let me be afraid</i>, he begs the bastard heart, which – until now – has focused primarily on beating sorrow through his veins. Panic had seized him at the edge of the river, certainly, it had sunk into the marrow of his bones and festered there. And, could he have screamed as the water took him, he would have. But that fear had been different somehow. Different in a way he did not know how to identify.
It was the fear of dying without Plumeria knowing where he’d gone.
The fear of not being able to protect his daughter, who had died a second time when he’d killed her.
He wants to fear for his <i>life</i>.
And yet, as they drag him down to his death, he knows deep at the center of him that it is not a life worth mourning. They have shown him that.
Because he has done nothing but hurt them – all of them. Even without meaning to. (He never meant to, never had it in him to inflict pain on others for his own personal gain).
So, by the time they drop him on the floor of this new chamber, he has resigned himself to his death.
By the time the first drip of acid sears through his flesh, he knows that he deserves this.
He rises as they retreat. “I’m sorry,” he calls after them, the voice hoarse with emotion. Guilt perhaps the most prevalent. How desperately he wants to call Plumeria back to him, so that he can apologize to her most all. But she does not look back. It is only when they slink into the shadows at the rear of the cavern that he realizes they are not alone.
Or, more specifically, <i>he</i> is not alone because <i>they</i> are gone.
Walked willingly into waiting mouths, each and every one of them.
“No!” he cries, long, drawn out, agonized. But they do not scream as the thing grinds their bones between his teeth and neatly swallows them.
And then, there in that cavern, it is only the two of them.
He cannot make out the shape of the thing. But he knows that it will bring him death. And he wonders, as he stands there and this great and terrible thing reaches for him, if this was how it was always going to end.
There is nothing to fear when there is nothing left worth protecting.
So, the dark tendrils that snake through the him are not terror or panic but something like defeat.
And a blinding grief.
A grief that chases every last ounce of fight right out of him so that when the thing takes him up in its cold, cold tentacle, he does not even squirm. He hangs his weary head as the thing swings him high in the air and he can hear their voices still. <i>Bastard, coward, liar!</i>
Then he is standing on his own feet again, swaying as his vision strobes.
The thing open its mouth, an invitation.
And Jarris stares into all that darkness. And he remembers the way that tears had cut rivers down Plumeria’s cheeks. And how Kensley’s hatred had itched up under his skin. And how the rest of them had looked at him and how fiercely he had loved them all once. And how Kennice had looked at him so sweetly before they’d plunged into that river.
So, he follows them.
He follows them because he sees no other option. Because he’d sworn more than once that he would follow them to the ends of the earth. He had never imagined that this would be what the end of the earth would look like, but he drags in a shuddering breath and he closes his eyes.
There is no peace in his heart.
But there is no fight in it either.
The steps are slow, sluggish as he creeps up into the things mouth. Swallows his disgust as he steps onto its fat tongue and into the stench of death and decay and so many other terrible things, too. But the eyes are closed, even still.
The eyes are closed but it does not matter because he can hear the jaws closing. A faint rumble that draws closer, falls down around him like an embrace. But there is no warmth, no comfort to be found in it. There is one singular moment of stillness before the agony. The pain of being crushed rips another sound out of him, primal, guttural. Snatches it right out of the center of him. It is only then that the body convulses and recoils, as if there is any hope at all of escape. But the spine is the first thing to shatter and the legs give out, paralyzed.
He does not have to open his eyes to see Plumeria, plain as day, watching from the shadow. And the last thing he sees as he dies is that steady stream of tears and all the pain that comes from the bones breaking, snapping, splintering certainly pales in comparison to the pain he has dragged her through.
Were he able to speak, were the lungs not punctured and steadily filling with blood, he might have murmured another apology into the darkness. But there is no sound now save for the sounds his body makes as it gives beneath the pressure. This death is different. There is no peace. Just the agony and then, quite suddenly, there is nothing at all.</div> <div class="jarris_name">jarris</div> <div class="jarris_quote">now I’ve been crazy, couldn’t you tell? I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell</div> <img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/2y1t8pQH/jarris3.png"> </div> </center>