02-24-2020, 12:52 AM
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He rushes towards the light even though it suddenly becomes consuming. He runs into it even though it swallows his vision and leaves him blinded, even though every part of it feels just as wrong as the dark.
He hears them before he sees them. All their voices – his father, his mother, and his siblings. And for a moment he is relieved, Because maybe this means he is done, maybe this means he has finally found a way out. But he begins to decipher just what they are saying, and when he focuses on them, he discovers that they are <i>angry</i>. The light fades until he can see their faces, and there they are; all of them black (or mostly black), and most of them with their bright yellow eyes.
Torryn has always been different from nearly everyone in his family. He was not black. He could not bend the shadows, or manipulate them in any way. He was plain— just blue roan and nothing at all unique about him— and though his mother used to kiss his brow and reassure him that that didn’t matter, he had always felt that maybe it had.
His father is the closest, his eyes bright and glowing yellow even in this relentless light, but there is none of the quiet kindness Ether’s usually has. There is a sneer to his face, his sharp teeth glinting as he hisses,<i> “You’ve always been a disappointment; entirely useless. Your siblings have nearly all inherited the ability to control shadows, and then there’s you.”</i> Haunt appears at his shoulder, a shadow that manifests itself into a living creature, and the trilling laughter that mingles with the murmur of voices makes him grit his teeth.<i> “How disappointing that the son born out of </i>love<i> turned out to be so utterly weak and mediocre.”</i>
He closes his eyes, willing them to go away. Harken, Harbinger, and Wrenley – they’re all there, too, all taunting him. They spin shadows and craft shadow creatures that swarm him, they disappear in and out of their own darkness. Even when he closes his eyes all he can see is the yellow and amber of theirs set against dark faces, and he growls beneath his breath, “Stop, stop, stop, please just stop.” <s>Atrox is there too because he heard there would be black horses with yellow eyes yelling, and he never turns down a party. “You suck!” He screams as he throws an empty PBR can at Torryn’s head, before laughing and going back to watching NASCAR. </s>
They can’t be real, they can’t be real, he tells himself. But there is nothing warped or distorted about the faces staring at him, and there is nothing wrong about what they are saying. They are saying everything that he has always thought, every insecurity that he had locked away in the cavern of his chest.
Shaking his head furiously he spins, but they have all pressed close, and between them and their allotment of shadow creations, he cannot see a way out. He’s going to die here, surrounded by his family, suffocated by his own failures and insecurities.</font></div></center>
He rushes towards the light even though it suddenly becomes consuming. He runs into it even though it swallows his vision and leaves him blinded, even though every part of it feels just as wrong as the dark.
He hears them before he sees them. All their voices – his father, his mother, and his siblings. And for a moment he is relieved, Because maybe this means he is done, maybe this means he has finally found a way out. But he begins to decipher just what they are saying, and when he focuses on them, he discovers that they are <i>angry</i>. The light fades until he can see their faces, and there they are; all of them black (or mostly black), and most of them with their bright yellow eyes.
Torryn has always been different from nearly everyone in his family. He was not black. He could not bend the shadows, or manipulate them in any way. He was plain— just blue roan and nothing at all unique about him— and though his mother used to kiss his brow and reassure him that that didn’t matter, he had always felt that maybe it had.
His father is the closest, his eyes bright and glowing yellow even in this relentless light, but there is none of the quiet kindness Ether’s usually has. There is a sneer to his face, his sharp teeth glinting as he hisses,<i> “You’ve always been a disappointment; entirely useless. Your siblings have nearly all inherited the ability to control shadows, and then there’s you.”</i> Haunt appears at his shoulder, a shadow that manifests itself into a living creature, and the trilling laughter that mingles with the murmur of voices makes him grit his teeth.<i> “How disappointing that the son born out of </i>love<i> turned out to be so utterly weak and mediocre.”</i>
He closes his eyes, willing them to go away. Harken, Harbinger, and Wrenley – they’re all there, too, all taunting him. They spin shadows and craft shadow creatures that swarm him, they disappear in and out of their own darkness. Even when he closes his eyes all he can see is the yellow and amber of theirs set against dark faces, and he growls beneath his breath, “Stop, stop, stop, please just stop.” <s>Atrox is there too because he heard there would be black horses with yellow eyes yelling, and he never turns down a party. “You suck!” He screams as he throws an empty PBR can at Torryn’s head, before laughing and going back to watching NASCAR. </s>
They can’t be real, they can’t be real, he tells himself. But there is nothing warped or distorted about the faces staring at him, and there is nothing wrong about what they are saying. They are saying everything that he has always thought, every insecurity that he had locked away in the cavern of his chest.
Shaking his head furiously he spins, but they have all pressed close, and between them and their allotment of shadow creations, he cannot see a way out. He’s going to die here, surrounded by his family, suffocated by his own failures and insecurities.</font></div></center>