prompt post: round ten
ROUND TEN
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CLOSING AT 3,000 COMMENTS
RULES POST
(PLEASE READ BEFORE COMMENTING)
<< ROUND NINE | ALL ROUNDS |
POSTING GUIDELINES - PLEASE READ BEFORE COMMENTING
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
Please use the Discussion Post if you want to talk about ( Read more... )
5:35
his dreams were flashes of metal against skin. a vivid dream of the past involving blood and well-meaning doctors who said they were just following orders and he's a very strong boy, how good, how kind.
in other words, a fool.
he could barely put on his necktie in rage and as a response, the metal bars of his window collapses into itself and lands down the street in a tight ball with a dead sound. erik thought he heard it hit against something, so he surreptitiously moves towards the window to look.
a girl with the most ridiculous colour of hair waves at him with her balloon (a goldfish?) and her dog.
"hey mister," she calls up. "what's a word for the precise moment you've actually forgotten about how to love someone when you've changed so much?"
erik stares at her, completely nonplussed with the question (what is it with manhattan and its overly friendly strangers?); then with a haunted look, shuts the window from her view.
6:03
a subway -- erik counts the number of humans crawling in the platforms and his hand closes to a fist as he curdles his disgust for this species -- erik shuts his eyes, gripping the briefcase tight in his hands (a week of a dead end, maybe it's time to retreat) -- hates the smell, the sound, the horrible screeching of the trains. the intimate space of the subway and its smell. the heat. he's suffocating in his suit.
he's moving towards the entrance, glaring at the push and shove of human hands around him. there's a cacophony of voices and words yelling and screeching as loud as the train around him, and erik feels trapped, erik feels angry, and the beams threaten to wail in his anger --
(it goes quiet)
and he hears a whisper. it is low and quiet but he catches the words:
"-- das Recht der stärkeren Rasse, die niedere zu vernichten." 2
he misses his train as he turns around to look at a man (?) with a leather jacket embossed with the word desire.
something like fear drops to the bottom of his gut and he doesn't know, doesn't understand yet what is going on.
he walks to his next train with sweaty palms.
7:06
he's woken up in the subway again -- too empty for something at around 7 in the morning; what happened? where are the people -- to face the same, red-headed man again, and erik massages his temples, glaring.
"i am tired. i have been accosted by strangers all over manhattan and you are not helping me."
the man nods. "we're trying. we're not supposed to directly intervene, but we're trying. hell, even me."
erik looks at him, half in despair and half in incredulity. he's gotten so expressive nowadays. "i'm sorry, but i do believe that i said i wasn't looking for help from you, or --"
"the word you needed," the man interrupts him, gently, but firmly, "is mercy."
erik stares at him.
"though i'm not sure if you'll understand that anymore." he says with a grim smile. "'never again', right?"
he is so tired.
he shuts his eyes.
*
when he opens them again it is 7:06 and the subway is filled to the brim with the chatter of human voices that drown the dark theatre of his mind and the howling of the train.
1 - "do you know mr. schmidt?"
2 - the right of the stronger race to annihilate the lower.
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the grooves of his briefcase marking his palms as if he'd been carrying a coffin for the most of his life.
The image in my mind from this is just- fuck.
And this line----> his mind is a theatre of his own failures and erik sleeps grinding his teeth in the dark, a silver coin embedded in his closed fist. HOLY FUCK. Seriously.
AND THAT LAST BIT. This is so viscerally beautiful and shit, I haven't read The Endless, but I know tomorrow I'm walking to the comic shop and getting a copy...or twelve.
Greatgreatgreatgreat job.
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