(Fic) Drabble: Blue-Grey Smoke
Another drabble. Because the Edoro begged and pleaded and I was pleased with my productivity today. So a drabble.
Like anyone else is reading this journal.
Blue-Grey Smoke
There were many ways to lose one’s sight. To a fire-jutsu, that was a cool one. Torture, maybe, like some guy getting lucky with a kunai but not lucky enough, since the kunai’d only take out an eye, not go straight to the brain.
Or perhaps a childhood accident, pathetic and sad and regrettable, tipping scalding water into one’s eyes, in a screaming, melting, sizzling heat of loss.
But these, these were normal.
Tonbo didn’t have the luxury of being able to say anything of that sort to people.
“How do you deal with being blind?” That, he can answer.
“How did you go blind?”
That one he couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed. No one would believe him. It wasn’t for lack of trying, believe me.
So he sits in faint shade of a taranoki, blowing out acrid smoke that stung and burned as it exited his mouth and nostrils, and sneers at anyone who dared to walk by, who dared to look pitifully in his direction.
A little brat comes by, bouncy and bobbing and disgustingly full of damn cheer.
“Oy mister,” it said, bouncing too much for Tonbo to care to even distinguish its gender. “Why’s your face all covered up?”
Tonbo doesn’t answer straight away, instead, lights up another cigarette, sucks in air and smoke into his lungs to feel the blue-grey-prickling burn all the way down, then blows it out directly into the brat’s face.
“Because a zombie pulled my eyes out.”
Tonbo smirks when the kid runs screaming for its parents.
Who believes in the supernatural anymore?
Like anyone else is reading this journal.
Blue-Grey Smoke
There were many ways to lose one’s sight. To a fire-jutsu, that was a cool one. Torture, maybe, like some guy getting lucky with a kunai but not lucky enough, since the kunai’d only take out an eye, not go straight to the brain.
Or perhaps a childhood accident, pathetic and sad and regrettable, tipping scalding water into one’s eyes, in a screaming, melting, sizzling heat of loss.
But these, these were normal.
Tonbo didn’t have the luxury of being able to say anything of that sort to people.
“How do you deal with being blind?” That, he can answer.
“How did you go blind?”
That one he couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed. No one would believe him. It wasn’t for lack of trying, believe me.
So he sits in faint shade of a taranoki, blowing out acrid smoke that stung and burned as it exited his mouth and nostrils, and sneers at anyone who dared to walk by, who dared to look pitifully in his direction.
A little brat comes by, bouncy and bobbing and disgustingly full of damn cheer.
“Oy mister,” it said, bouncing too much for Tonbo to care to even distinguish its gender. “Why’s your face all covered up?”
Tonbo doesn’t answer straight away, instead, lights up another cigarette, sucks in air and smoke into his lungs to feel the blue-grey-prickling burn all the way down, then blows it out directly into the brat’s face.
“Because a zombie pulled my eyes out.”
Tonbo smirks when the kid runs screaming for its parents.
Who believes in the supernatural anymore?