that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
The meaning of the world continues to bleed from it. Continues to turn to dust and ash, taking everything in it that would have maybe saved him. He has no one would who search for him, no one who would know his name, and he supposes that there’s no one to blame but himself. He who has chased away any that would have dared to become his friend. He who has only salvaged one relationship his entire life and it was with a girl who existed entirely in his dreams—someone he is not convinced is truly real at all.
He does not deserve pity, and he does not expect it.
But neither did he expect the world to turn quite so cruel and empty.
He stumbles through the forest, cold breeze not touching him, and it is only when he feels that faint brush of fear that it sinks into his mind at all. The creature that he is tilts his rotten head to the side, flesh falling from his cheeks—dull golden eyes peering into the darkness and not seeing anything. Intrigued, perhaps, or simply drawn to the feeling of something like like, he groans low and deep and then angles toward it.
When he hears the sound of her voice, something living at the back of his mind wants to return the greeting, but the only thing that comes out is a moan—guttural and rusted. His mind struggles to understand her request, to give meaning to the words and interpret them in this context. They’re empty and meaningless, much like him, and he wishes that he could protect the thing that draws him forward.
He wishes that she would never have called him forward.
He lurches into her space, head swinging slowly as if trying to find her.
His mouth opens and he coughs, sputters, and then croaks in his strange, disembodied voice:
“Run.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[splendora]