Sabra
I grin haphazardly at her assertion that we are both alive. To tell you the truth, I've begun to lose track of which side of the veil I stand on, I am not sure if I'm really seeing color or if my damaged brain is simply showing me what I want to see. Except that I want you see my dead daughter. I don't want to see faces fall when I approach, to see them twist in disgust and pity.
So. Really, how can I doubt that I am alive? There is nothing on this earth so cruel as life.
(Live with your guilt, forever)
Lavender-pink blurs my sight, blinding me momentarily. I scream at it, vicious and violent. Striking at the girl who's blood I carry in my own veins. On my teeth and embedded in my hooves. Thin air is all that meets my slashing feet, and the vision fades as quickly as it came on. Then she's standing beside the grey mare, grinning as if this is all a grand game we're playing.
"Leave her alone, you little bitch," I snarl to the apparition. My jaws flex and release, chewing on my own teeth until she vanishes again. "Back to her nice comfy grave, where I left her." The first time. The second time, I left her in pieces. A violent tremor wracks me from beginning to end, feverish and sickening. Can magical wounds become infected?
There's panic in my eyes. The agitation of knowing something is wrong, of knowing that reality and what I'm seeing may not be lining up. But I can't for love or money separate the threads. I'm strangling on memories real and false, and some in between. My lips peel apart in a rictus grin, then I lunge at my own chest.
Castile offered and then took back the offer of trying to remove this lance from my breast. He was afraid and so was I, but I can think of nothing else at this moment. I do what he was too cowardly to do, and savage my own breast to tear the spear out. My teeth snap and clench at the unyielding wood, harder than any wood has right to be. Blood and saliva drip from the haft as I haul at the length of it, despite the pain, despite the thickening flow of red red blood from the wound in my chest.
Where the wood meets flesh I can feel it pull, my very heart shifting behind my ribs with every jerk. The Voices egg me on, jeering at the hot blood and hotter tears, at the dizziness in my head. Until my blue skin is dappled crimson, and I've fallen spasming to my knees. A torrent of fury, and all I've accomplished is the worsening of my wound. I've forgotten her, the grey mare. Forgotten her in my wrath against myself, until her pale coat is swimming in my eyes.
"I'm sorry-" the words crackle in my throat, a cough peppering my lips with more ruddy drops. And I'm not sure why, but I'm sorry and ashamed and I'm bleeding into the grass at her feet. "-I'm sorry, please. I- I don't know what's happened to me. Help me." I stare empty eyed at her, desperate and afraid of myself. Of being alone, and of being near others.
So. Really, how can I doubt that I am alive? There is nothing on this earth so cruel as life.
(Live with your guilt, forever)
Lavender-pink blurs my sight, blinding me momentarily. I scream at it, vicious and violent. Striking at the girl who's blood I carry in my own veins. On my teeth and embedded in my hooves. Thin air is all that meets my slashing feet, and the vision fades as quickly as it came on. Then she's standing beside the grey mare, grinning as if this is all a grand game we're playing.
"Leave her alone, you little bitch," I snarl to the apparition. My jaws flex and release, chewing on my own teeth until she vanishes again. "Back to her nice comfy grave, where I left her." The first time. The second time, I left her in pieces. A violent tremor wracks me from beginning to end, feverish and sickening. Can magical wounds become infected?
There's panic in my eyes. The agitation of knowing something is wrong, of knowing that reality and what I'm seeing may not be lining up. But I can't for love or money separate the threads. I'm strangling on memories real and false, and some in between. My lips peel apart in a rictus grin, then I lunge at my own chest.
Castile offered and then took back the offer of trying to remove this lance from my breast. He was afraid and so was I, but I can think of nothing else at this moment. I do what he was too cowardly to do, and savage my own breast to tear the spear out. My teeth snap and clench at the unyielding wood, harder than any wood has right to be. Blood and saliva drip from the haft as I haul at the length of it, despite the pain, despite the thickening flow of red red blood from the wound in my chest.
Where the wood meets flesh I can feel it pull, my very heart shifting behind my ribs with every jerk. The Voices egg me on, jeering at the hot blood and hotter tears, at the dizziness in my head. Until my blue skin is dappled crimson, and I've fallen spasming to my knees. A torrent of fury, and all I've accomplished is the worsening of my wound. I've forgotten her, the grey mare. Forgotten her in my wrath against myself, until her pale coat is swimming in my eyes.
"I'm sorry-" the words crackle in my throat, a cough peppering my lips with more ruddy drops. And I'm not sure why, but I'm sorry and ashamed and I'm bleeding into the grass at her feet. "-I'm sorry, please. I- I don't know what's happened to me. Help me." I stare empty eyed at her, desperate and afraid of myself. Of being alone, and of being near others.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
Photo by Kareva Margarita
@[aletta]