cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
There is a familiarity to the burn of a muscles. Something soothing. Comforting, in such an odd way. The rhythmic movement of limbs, the sting of sweat, and the copper trickle of blood released by the pull of skin against rupturing bone. The pain that comes with it is an old friend. One she had long ago grown accustomed to. So much so it barely registers. Just another note in the chord as she loses herself in that old song. It’s so easy to dive into those sensations, allowing her thoughts and emotions to drift aside, forgotten.
Of course, it never lasts. Her strength can only bring her so far. Though she is young and healthy and fit, even she cannot go forever. It’s inevitable, that end. And with it, all the things she had been trying so hard to avoid resurface. But this is where exhaustion becomes her most favored companion.
In many, it’s easier than trying to pick apart the endless puzzle of her mother’s disappearance. The pain and sadness of her father and brother’s continued absence. Some days, she wonders how her mother had done it. Other days, she thinks her mom had used Nerine like she uses this.
Of course, in the end, she could never run far enough.
Today though, her ultimately doomed efforts come to an abbreviated and unexpected halt when her path leads her nearly directly into an unfamiliar face. Stumbling, she skids to a stop, a brief, surprised yip escaping her lips. Truthfully, had she actually been paying attention, she might have avoided near collision. But then, it seems to be a rather bad habit of hers.
“Whoops!” she exclaims rather breathlessly, a chagrined smile already curling her lips. Turning to face the stranger, she continues, her apology punctuated by the shortness of her breaths. “Ah… sorry about that.”
Brazen
@[Brine]