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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [private]  you're not alone, I'm standing right beside you
    #12
    he must be wicked to deserve such pain;


    He has darkened the mood, with his talk of dying, and he almost wishes he could take it back. Maybe it’s too intimate, this, to speak of his deaths, these parts of him so private and public both. But he is weak, ever so, and so when she repeats the word - twice? - he offers his explanations, strange as they may be.
    “Once was willing,” he says, “I was very old, and tired, so when someone I loved went into the ocean, it was an easy choice to follow.”
    He does not go into the strange details, how Tabytha had been reanimated herself, and had returned to whence she came. He does not mention the children they left – abandoned – on the beach either.
    “The second time...” he begins, “I didn’t have a choice. I was running. Being hunted. Yo-…someone tried to save me.”
    He slipped. He shouldn’t have slipped. He is skirting too close to an edge, with this.

    She is apologetic, then, though for no reason. He has no fear when he looks at the ocean, only joy that he is here with her, in this strange situation they have created.
    “Don’t be sorry,” he says, talking too fast, and he touches her, trying to reassure her, or maybe he just wants to touch her and he will cling to any excuse he has to do so.
    “I would have gone to hell and back to have my memories back,” he says, “a beautiful island and good company is a blessing, really.”
    Almost flirting. But it’s the truth, too. Already that lost, memory-less part of himself has begun to feel distant, but he can recall well enough how strange it had been, how empty. This is better. It hurts, but it’s better. It hurts in a way that is familiar.
    She is still offering a way out. Or maybe she’s just trying to get rid of him. She’s done her good deed – gone above and beyond – and maybe now she simply wants to extricate herself. And he should let her. He knows he should. He knows he cannot freeze this moment, this sunset, the way the changing light reflects on her pale coat.
    “I’ll go soon,” he tells her, “but I’d like to see what it looks like when the sun goes down.”
    He barely cares. What he really wants is a few more minutes with her, to extend this time, even if it will hurt all the worse when she finally, inevitably, leaves.

    garbage
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    RE: you're not alone, I'm standing right beside you - by garbage - 09-19-2021, 07:14 PM



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