10-13-2017, 08:26 PM
Ellyse
she is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness
She ached.
She ached in a way she never knew possible –
She felt exhausted, depleted of her energy and worn to the bone – emotionally, physically, mentally. She had tasted blood, felt bone crushed beneath her own, and destroyed life – she had felt victory in her tender marrow, and she had felt more hopeless and more heartbroken than she had ever thought she could. Every piece of her humility, her self-awareness and her strength had put into question, and she had faltered as all sinners do, never going above, but always going beyond to bring an end to the anguish.
In the end, she had lost a piece of herself – a small part of her that had been given to another, only to be crushed, and left as nothing but ashes to ashes and dust to dust, scattered within the salty ocean breeze. The contentment that had filled her heart felt so far away, and so long ago – she had been in a different plane of existence, captured and imprisoned by a merciless God hellbent on destroying her willpower to live, to thrive – and he had taken so much from her. Her eye socket aches with the loss; her broken wing lay limp as the once pale ivory of her bloodstained feathers drag alongside her through the soft and fertile soil.
The piece of herself that had been lost was no longer – a gaping void in the bleeding hearth of her chest; he had made certain of it with biting words and a glowering stare – the memory of his abandonment still stirring her blood and feeding her with an edge of anger. He had spurned her and she had left him adrift at sea – the damage had been done; there was nothing but a sordid ember in the place of where a raging inferno once burned. The anger and the anguish keeps her moving, searching – stillness cannot befall her; complacency does not suit her. It never has.
Another piece of her aches still with the uncertainty of what lie ahead, and of what truth remains to be seen.
She had not seen any sign of Dahmer – of the one who had sacrificed himself to protect her, to spare her the pitiless and heartless torment she had been forced to endure – all for naught, but it had not been forgotten. She yearns for him now, to see him whole (unlike her – she is monstrous; splattered with bloodshed with a gouged socket marked with the outline of a bear claw - such irony – it was not lost on her that the one that should betray her would also be the symbolism of her disfigurement). The longing in her young son’s eyes had almost been unbearable – pleading for an answer; an answer she could not give.
Eventually, she found her son and daughter, Joaquin and Joplin – she held no answer for either of them, and hid her face in white-hot shame and frustration as their suckling mouths took their fill of her milk, until their bellies were round and full of what had been starved of them for too long. Though she ached to stay alongside them, to lave her tongue across each of their sullen cheeks and feel their steadied heartbeats across her own as they slept nestled in the dense vegetation along the base of the rumbling volcano, she knew she had to find Smoak, and that he would not be far.
He would be looking for Dahmer – he was aching as she was, and he needed her more than he ever had before.
When she does find him, he is hidden away within a dark cavern, draped in the scent of his father, and her heart tightens painfully inside of her chest. A softened and forlorn eye is watchful of him, its golden flecks glimmering in the pale light of the falling sun – in stark contrast to the darkness of filth and dried blood that seemed to have immersed itself into her golden skin. Quietly, softly, her voice echoes across the jagged enclosure and into the subtle darkness (it is a reminder of her imprisonment, once again – of Dahmer, crying out to her, while Ledger turned away and left her to die ).
”@[Smoak],” she murmurs to him, but she is at a loss, not knowing the fate of his father, not knowing anything but the blood, sweat and tears it took her to find him, to get back to him – she can promise him nothing, and her heart has never ached more.
”I’ve missed you,” is all she can say. It is the only truth she has left.
She ached in a way she never knew possible –
She felt exhausted, depleted of her energy and worn to the bone – emotionally, physically, mentally. She had tasted blood, felt bone crushed beneath her own, and destroyed life – she had felt victory in her tender marrow, and she had felt more hopeless and more heartbroken than she had ever thought she could. Every piece of her humility, her self-awareness and her strength had put into question, and she had faltered as all sinners do, never going above, but always going beyond to bring an end to the anguish.
In the end, she had lost a piece of herself – a small part of her that had been given to another, only to be crushed, and left as nothing but ashes to ashes and dust to dust, scattered within the salty ocean breeze. The contentment that had filled her heart felt so far away, and so long ago – she had been in a different plane of existence, captured and imprisoned by a merciless God hellbent on destroying her willpower to live, to thrive – and he had taken so much from her. Her eye socket aches with the loss; her broken wing lay limp as the once pale ivory of her bloodstained feathers drag alongside her through the soft and fertile soil.
The piece of herself that had been lost was no longer – a gaping void in the bleeding hearth of her chest; he had made certain of it with biting words and a glowering stare – the memory of his abandonment still stirring her blood and feeding her with an edge of anger. He had spurned her and she had left him adrift at sea – the damage had been done; there was nothing but a sordid ember in the place of where a raging inferno once burned. The anger and the anguish keeps her moving, searching – stillness cannot befall her; complacency does not suit her. It never has.
Another piece of her aches still with the uncertainty of what lie ahead, and of what truth remains to be seen.
She had not seen any sign of Dahmer – of the one who had sacrificed himself to protect her, to spare her the pitiless and heartless torment she had been forced to endure – all for naught, but it had not been forgotten. She yearns for him now, to see him whole (unlike her – she is monstrous; splattered with bloodshed with a gouged socket marked with the outline of a bear claw - such irony – it was not lost on her that the one that should betray her would also be the symbolism of her disfigurement). The longing in her young son’s eyes had almost been unbearable – pleading for an answer; an answer she could not give.
Eventually, she found her son and daughter, Joaquin and Joplin – she held no answer for either of them, and hid her face in white-hot shame and frustration as their suckling mouths took their fill of her milk, until their bellies were round and full of what had been starved of them for too long. Though she ached to stay alongside them, to lave her tongue across each of their sullen cheeks and feel their steadied heartbeats across her own as they slept nestled in the dense vegetation along the base of the rumbling volcano, she knew she had to find Smoak, and that he would not be far.
He would be looking for Dahmer – he was aching as she was, and he needed her more than he ever had before.
When she does find him, he is hidden away within a dark cavern, draped in the scent of his father, and her heart tightens painfully inside of her chest. A softened and forlorn eye is watchful of him, its golden flecks glimmering in the pale light of the falling sun – in stark contrast to the darkness of filth and dried blood that seemed to have immersed itself into her golden skin. Quietly, softly, her voice echoes across the jagged enclosure and into the subtle darkness (it is a reminder of her imprisonment, once again – of Dahmer, crying out to her, while Ledger turned away and left her to die ).
”@[Smoak],” she murmurs to him, but she is at a loss, not knowing the fate of his father, not knowing anything but the blood, sweat and tears it took her to find him, to get back to him – she can promise him nothing, and her heart has never ached more.
”I’ve missed you,” is all she can say. It is the only truth she has left.
she rules her life like a fine skylark, and when the sky is starless