Drabbles for free!
So, I have some spare time tonight and I was thinking … why not set up a drabble post? Since there’s only three of you on the f-list so far … weeeell, I don’t think I’ll be getting excessive prompts that I’ll be unable to fill. That being the case, I’d love to write you guys something short and quick if you want one. I need something to kick the
( Read more... )
“I’m sorry,” Giotto says, but his face is expressionless as he pulls the trigger and paints the walls red.
Cozart is beside him and squeezes his shoulder to let him know he’s still there, that he’ll always be there when Giotto needs him. “Let’s go,” he insists quietly, pulling his friend towards the door and away from the sight that has hollowed amber eyes so fascinated.
“Not yet.” The blonde brushes off the hand, ignoring the way he sways to stay on his feet and how his stomach turns as if it’s trying to escape without him. “I’m not done yet.” He raises the gun again, barrel aimed at the bleeding man’s head. Then there’s a hand blocking the end of his weapon and Giotto is collapsing to his knees, sobbing.
“He’s dead already, Giotto. You got him. He won’t be killing any more.” Cozart’s voice is strained as he rubs soothing circles on his friend’s back. “But we have to leave. The police will be here if we don’t get a move on.”
“I … I …” Giotto can’t get the words he wants to say out and latches onto Cozart with a pleading look. Cozart understand what he needs to hear and says it, gripping his friend firmly by the shoulders.
“You don’t deserve to die, Giotto. What he did was wrong and it’s over. You protected what needed protecting. Don’t you ever forget that.”
--
Two days later and Giotto can still feel the blood on his hands. He washes and washes, but it never seems to come off. He scrubs until his hands are truly red and ache from the brutal assault. Then he glances at the man in the mirror and wonders how he became the person he sees looking back at him. But there’s nothing different about him, nothing noticeable anyway, that sets him apart from the person he was just days ago. Now, though, he was a killer. He felt it down to his bones, that chill he associated with people who could so easily take lives. He was a murderer.
He could hear Cozart’s words in his head, repeating themselves and reminding him that what he did was right, but he could never think of it that way. He wasn’t any better than the man he had killed. Is that how he would spend the rest of his life? Killing, nearly being killed, and then finally dying at the hands of another human being?
His hands tremble as he holds onto to the sink and he stops looking into the mirror, disgusted at what he sees. That determination to keep living until that day keeps shining in his eyes and he can’t bear to see it after taking another’s life.
“Are you almost finished in there, Giotto?” Cozart calls before rapping on the bathroom door with his knuckles. “I’d like to take a bath before the water gets called.”
Tightening his grip on the ceramic sink, Giotto is reminded once again that he is not alone. He’s staying here, at this inn, with Cozart and he shouldn’t have kept his friend waiting for so long. Cozart is already worried enough, has his own troubles to deal with as it is, and yet the redhead is here. Giotto opens the door, offers a shaky smile, and silently prays that Cozart will always remain by his side.
He doesn’t have the courage to stand alone any more.
Reply
Leave a comment