Takei
Grief aches. It clings deeply, heavily to his heart and the cavities found there. It throbs with each pull of his lungs, each twitch of his muscles. It strings itself along the linings and bones and nerves and vessels of his body. Takei feels it — grief, despair, trauma, depression — in every cell that makes up his body.
It holds him close with its dark, slimy fingers and it won’t let him go.
Takei moves with it. He tries to find his way blindly through the field, then into the meadow. The scents are familiar but powerful, the sounds are gentle but loud. His eyesight had melted away with the island he had grown to love — and those who had lived on it with him — and his other senses seemed heightened somehow, as though his body were overcompensating for the lack of vision.
The headache never stops. When he’d first woken up among the spring grasses in the field, his whole body ached as though he had been run over by a terrified, stampeding herd. Those bruises have faded, yet the dull throb among the lining of his cranium has yet to cease. The deep gashes in his thigh have begun to heal over, though the scabbing that covers it is thin and breaks easily. Every time he feels the sharpness of the scab cracking, he is reminded of all he has lost.
Orion. Cassiopeia. Draco. Andromeda. The island.
So many more.
Takei inhales sharply, among the loud chatter and thick scents of the meadow. He rests his left shoulder against the strength of a tree. Although he cannot see anything — he had never taken sight for granted until it was suddenly removed from him — he knows he can rely on the support and consistency of the trunk, planting its roots firmly in the ground and stretching its arms high in the sky.
It holds him close with its dark, slimy fingers and it won’t let him go.
Takei moves with it. He tries to find his way blindly through the field, then into the meadow. The scents are familiar but powerful, the sounds are gentle but loud. His eyesight had melted away with the island he had grown to love — and those who had lived on it with him — and his other senses seemed heightened somehow, as though his body were overcompensating for the lack of vision.
The headache never stops. When he’d first woken up among the spring grasses in the field, his whole body ached as though he had been run over by a terrified, stampeding herd. Those bruises have faded, yet the dull throb among the lining of his cranium has yet to cease. The deep gashes in his thigh have begun to heal over, though the scabbing that covers it is thin and breaks easily. Every time he feels the sharpness of the scab cracking, he is reminded of all he has lost.
Orion. Cassiopeia. Draco. Andromeda. The island.
So many more.
Takei inhales sharply, among the loud chatter and thick scents of the meadow. He rests his left shoulder against the strength of a tree. Although he cannot see anything — he had never taken sight for granted until it was suddenly removed from him — he knows he can rely on the support and consistency of the trunk, planting its roots firmly in the ground and stretching its arms high in the sky.
watch the mind run far away, way ahead of us
@[swxrdsandpxns] Feel free to post whomever back to him, I remembered you saying you wanted some Kuna words