i took the poison praying you'd feel it, too
i wrapped my neck and prayed that you'd feel the noose
It feels too heavy to carry sometimes.
Sometimes he could swear that he can feel his bones bending beneath it.
He carries her with him. The gasping of her breath and the gurgle in her throat.
The weight of it is unbearable.
But he is nothing if not his father’s son and he steadily puts one foot in front of the other. He does not know what he’d expected in coming back here. Perhaps he’d thought he might find some comfort in coming home. But his home is not the same and he is not the same and he finds absolutely no comfort here. He is a stranger in a strange land. He supposes it’s true what they say: you can’t go home again.
The breathing is even, measured. He wonders how long he could hold his breath. Would it matter? Would his lungs ache for air? Would the heart shudder in the cavern of his chest? Would it beat itself against its ribbed cage?
He chooses to think about these things – this strange gift – rather than think about how they came to be. All thoughts evaporate, though, when the two nearly collide. She scurries backward and he blinks at her in surprise.
“It’s all right,” he says, even, in the wake of her apology. He shakes his head and wonders what about him is so repellent. Can they smell it on him? Do they know that he fought as hard as he could but it wasn’t hard enough? Do they worry that, should they get too close, he might find some significant and unforgivable way to fail them, too?
She offers up her name and he clears his throat. “Larke,” he repeats, trying it out. “I’m Kensley.”
He thinks himself undeserving of the name now but hasn’t thought of anything better to call himself.
shattered son of jarris and plumeria |
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