(no subject)
Four flights up, Skellig remembers.
(He hates stairs. Hates them. They're nothing but endless and hollow and he can hear his boots clattering against the concrete (linoleum?) too loud can't hide and they just plain hurt. Flying is much more sensible, but he can't do that, here. Not here, not where they might see him.)
Five flights up, Skellig remembers.
(Who is she?)
Six flights up, Skellig remembers.
(not like them she is not one of them she is not one of you either none like you)
Seven flights up,
"We need to hurry." She tugs at his arm, causing him to stumble.
"Can't with Arthur," he says. It is not apologetic. He is not worried. (Not about the boy. Not about her. Not about Them. Not about anything.) He is not worried at all. He smiles. "Nasty bastard he is."
he had the boy and the girl bring him the fish oil and the pills to help with the pain, and then bottles of brown to wash it down, and then then food of the gods to heal. twenty-seven and fifty-three. with sauce.
"He's in trouble," she protests.
Skellig rolls his eyes. "No, he's not."
She stops. Stares at him.
iron and salt and sweat and ash
"You're a liar."
"No," she snaps her hand out and catches him by the wrist. "You are a fool."
Eight flights up, Skellig wishes he had a plate of Chinese takeaway. He is hungry.
Nine flights up, Skellig wishes he had a key.
Not sure if the door would even work right now.
Ten flights up, Skellig begins to laugh.
(Because it is funny. He already knows.)
She does not. Laugh.
i had find you tell you i need you
tell you i set you apart
tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
oh lets go back to the start
Thirteen flights up, Skellig wishes he had an elevator.
Fifteen flights up, she stops short in front of him. And then opens the door to the roof.
(He is still laughing.)
"It's not funny," she hisses.
"Oh, but it is."
He sits on the gravel in the center and makes an honest effort to stifle his laughter, and it takes him awhile. Because it is funny; because he was right all along. She is not like him. She is not like them, either. And she is not like the boy -- the boy who is not here.
He knew the boy was not here long before she convinced him to come with her.
(He remembers who she is.)
nobody said it was easy its such a shame for us to part
nobody said it was easy no one ever said it would be this hard
iron
(for the weight of the world on your shoulders)
salt
(for the taste of the tears of the world)
sweat
(for the scent of the fear of all of them)
ash
(for the choking desperation of everything that breathes)
earth
(for the funeral marchers)
death
(for the end)
His arm still itches and his vision is still cloudy around the edges.
But that does not matter. The boy is safe (he is not hers) and so are the people below (150ft) and so is he.
None are like you.
She had said it herself.
None are like you. None are as powerful.
None are a freak like you.
what is that guy's problem?
He looks up at her. And he grins.
"Come dance with me."
She appears confused -- for a second, his expression shifts to mirror her own -- and then he is off his feet, grabbing her wrists in his hands nevermind the sting and she doesn't have time to understand before he pulls her.
She stumbles, but he does not trip.
The backs of his knees hit the edge of the rooftop
And she screams.
Unfortunately for her, snakes do not possess the ability to fly.
(And they make a lovely crunch when they hit the sidewalk.)
His fingertips scrape the edge of the roof.
Unfortunately for him, he can't free his wings from his coat.
(And it is impossible for a bird to fly without its wings.)
His crunch, however, does not sound the same.
oh take me back to the start
(He hates stairs. Hates them. They're nothing but endless and hollow and he can hear his boots clattering against the concrete (linoleum?) too loud can't hide and they just plain hurt. Flying is much more sensible, but he can't do that, here. Not here, not where they might see him.)
Five flights up, Skellig remembers.
(Who is she?)
Six flights up, Skellig remembers.
(not like them she is not one of them she is not one of you either none like you)
Seven flights up,
"We need to hurry." She tugs at his arm, causing him to stumble.
"Can't with Arthur," he says. It is not apologetic. He is not worried. (Not about the boy. Not about her. Not about Them. Not about anything.) He is not worried at all. He smiles. "Nasty bastard he is."
he had the boy and the girl bring him the fish oil and the pills to help with the pain, and then bottles of brown to wash it down, and then then food of the gods to heal. twenty-seven and fifty-three. with sauce.
"He's in trouble," she protests.
Skellig rolls his eyes. "No, he's not."
She stops. Stares at him.
iron and salt and sweat and ash
"You're a liar."
"No," she snaps her hand out and catches him by the wrist. "You are a fool."
Eight flights up, Skellig wishes he had a plate of Chinese takeaway. He is hungry.
Nine flights up, Skellig wishes he had a key.
Not sure if the door would even work right now.
Ten flights up, Skellig begins to laugh.
(Because it is funny. He already knows.)
She does not. Laugh.
i had find you tell you i need you
tell you i set you apart
tell me your secrets and ask me your questions
oh lets go back to the start
Thirteen flights up, Skellig wishes he had an elevator.
Fifteen flights up, she stops short in front of him. And then opens the door to the roof.
(He is still laughing.)
"It's not funny," she hisses.
"Oh, but it is."
He sits on the gravel in the center and makes an honest effort to stifle his laughter, and it takes him awhile. Because it is funny; because he was right all along. She is not like him. She is not like them, either. And she is not like the boy -- the boy who is not here.
He knew the boy was not here long before she convinced him to come with her.
(He remembers who she is.)
nobody said it was easy its such a shame for us to part
nobody said it was easy no one ever said it would be this hard
iron
(for the weight of the world on your shoulders)
salt
(for the taste of the tears of the world)
sweat
(for the scent of the fear of all of them)
ash
(for the choking desperation of everything that breathes)
earth
(for the funeral marchers)
death
(for the end)
His arm still itches and his vision is still cloudy around the edges.
But that does not matter. The boy is safe (he is not hers) and so are the people below (150ft) and so is he.
None are like you.
She had said it herself.
None are like you. None are as powerful.
None are a freak like you.
what is that guy's problem?
He looks up at her. And he grins.
"Come dance with me."
She appears confused -- for a second, his expression shifts to mirror her own -- and then he is off his feet, grabbing her wrists in his hands nevermind the sting and she doesn't have time to understand before he pulls her.
She stumbles, but he does not trip.
The backs of his knees hit the edge of the rooftop
And she screams.
Unfortunately for her, snakes do not possess the ability to fly.
(And they make a lovely crunch when they hit the sidewalk.)
His fingertips scrape the edge of the roof.
Unfortunately for him, he can't free his wings from his coat.
(And it is impossible for a bird to fly without its wings.)
His crunch, however, does not sound the same.
oh take me back to the start