11-11-2015, 12:55 PM
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He doesn’t notice her at first, so caught up in his own grief and horror that the outside world has little meaning, makes little sense. No sound escapes, not even a sob, as tears slide unbidden down his cheeks, the salty droplets falling unnoticed to the earth. The shadows climb higher on his body, creeping up his legs until they slowly consume his torso, covering his barrel, his chest, and finally his neck in an unrelieved blackness that seems to dance in the bright, warm day.
He only realizes he has company when she speaks, asking if he is okay. No. No he’s not. But he doesn’t say this, doesn’t say a word actually. No yet. His brown eyes are unfocused as the turn to her, and in that face he sees a resemblance. In his unguarded and unfocused state, another face is imposed over hers, one very similar and yet so vastly different.
Ma?
The word escapes his lips on a croak. He recoils, afraid that she still hates him, still blames him for his failures (as she should). But then his eyes focus and it is not his mother that stands before him, but a young roan mare with only the vaguest of resemblances.
He slumps in relief, in absolute dejection. No, it is not his mother there, but someone else entirely. Someone he should know but does not. Someone he had failed so completely that it had risen up to haunt him in his darkest hours, to torment him with his inadequacies.
And finally he answers her question, large head drooping low, eyes closed so that he might block out the sight of her.
No.
He is not okay. He is not sure if he will ever be okay.
No.
He only realizes he has company when she speaks, asking if he is okay. No. No he’s not. But he doesn’t say this, doesn’t say a word actually. No yet. His brown eyes are unfocused as the turn to her, and in that face he sees a resemblance. In his unguarded and unfocused state, another face is imposed over hers, one very similar and yet so vastly different.
Ma?
The word escapes his lips on a croak. He recoils, afraid that she still hates him, still blames him for his failures (as she should). But then his eyes focus and it is not his mother that stands before him, but a young roan mare with only the vaguest of resemblances.
He slumps in relief, in absolute dejection. No, it is not his mother there, but someone else entirely. Someone he should know but does not. Someone he had failed so completely that it had risen up to haunt him in his darkest hours, to torment him with his inadequacies.
And finally he answers her question, large head drooping low, eyes closed so that he might block out the sight of her.
No.
He is not okay. He is not sure if he will ever be okay.
No.
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch