05-05-2020, 01:02 PM
all i want is to flip a switch
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
He has abandoned everything in his life. His home, any friends he might’ve almost made, his family. There is nothing he allows to perpetuate, because he knows that the longer it lasts, the more it hurts when it finally ends. And everything always ends.
The only thing he has been unable to give up is this forest with her ancient trees - and perhaps that is why, because her age makes him trust her. Trees wide enough to run circles around, with more branches than there are stars in the sky - even the ground is old, layers of dead pine needles that make everything feel soft and spongy. If this place has lasted so long, maybe it will be here forever. Or at least long enough to see him to his own end some day.
He wanders through the deepest parts of the forest, always drawn to the border of Tephra (where fires burn and angels are born from the ash). It’s the way the deep fog of his forest thickens with the drifting smoke from Tephra and makes this whole area like a wasteland of gray with ghost trees and no real life.
No one ever comes out this way.
So he is startled, physically flinching, when he steps out onto his beach and there is a small blue and white shape forcing the quiet fog to billow around and past her. His ears pin reflexively, disappearing into his dark mane as something like a snarled grimace warps the prior quiet of his face. He is offended that the evening he had imagined in his mind is suddenly stolen away, that his place is no longer a secret, his solitude no longer his own.
He’s so mad, that he almost doesn’t notice the words her body tells him. The soft slack in her ears and her neck, the hunch in such slender shoulders or the way she hasn’t even bothered to turn her delicate face to track the heat of the sun as it dips low over the horizon. She seems ..sad. But whatever, because he definitely doesn’t care. She can be sad on someone else's goddamn beach.
So it's strange then, isn’t it, that he doesn’t turn and head further up the beach to claim his own lonely place. That instead he stands there behind her, frowning and scowling and staring, with those quiet piebald wings lifted to catch the last breaths of a drowsy wind beneath them.
The only thing he has been unable to give up is this forest with her ancient trees - and perhaps that is why, because her age makes him trust her. Trees wide enough to run circles around, with more branches than there are stars in the sky - even the ground is old, layers of dead pine needles that make everything feel soft and spongy. If this place has lasted so long, maybe it will be here forever. Or at least long enough to see him to his own end some day.
He wanders through the deepest parts of the forest, always drawn to the border of Tephra (where fires burn and angels are born from the ash). It’s the way the deep fog of his forest thickens with the drifting smoke from Tephra and makes this whole area like a wasteland of gray with ghost trees and no real life.
No one ever comes out this way.
So he is startled, physically flinching, when he steps out onto his beach and there is a small blue and white shape forcing the quiet fog to billow around and past her. His ears pin reflexively, disappearing into his dark mane as something like a snarled grimace warps the prior quiet of his face. He is offended that the evening he had imagined in his mind is suddenly stolen away, that his place is no longer a secret, his solitude no longer his own.
He’s so mad, that he almost doesn’t notice the words her body tells him. The soft slack in her ears and her neck, the hunch in such slender shoulders or the way she hasn’t even bothered to turn her delicate face to track the heat of the sun as it dips low over the horizon. She seems ..sad. But whatever, because he definitely doesn’t care. She can be sad on someone else's goddamn beach.
So it's strange then, isn’t it, that he doesn’t turn and head further up the beach to claim his own lonely place. That instead he stands there behind her, frowning and scowling and staring, with those quiet piebald wings lifted to catch the last breaths of a drowsy wind beneath them.
Illum