Crystal Lattice (1/?)
anonymous
October 19 2009, 04:17:00 UTC
0 minutes
Matthew isn’t sure if it’s the gradually diminishing pain suffusing through his chest cavity or the ringing of his cell phone that awakens him from his uneasy sleep.
He gropes blindly in the dark for his phone, squinting to try and read the time on his alarm clock without his glasses. 3:47 AM. Way too early to be woken up, especially when he has a meeting to attend in the morning. Through Matthew’s grogginess he dimly registers that his Caller ID reads “unknown name,” and he sighs in aggravation. If it’s some sort of prank call…
“Hello?” he answers through a muffled yawn, wincing when the pain in his chest spikes sharply at the movement. Bringing his free hand up to soothe the spot does nothing, and distantly, some part of him recognizes that the pain is somehow disconnected, too deep and too far for him to reach. He feels like he’s felt something like this before.
Fire licking at his chest, gnawing away at His capital while a blurry shadow screams shrilly into the smoke smothering the skyline.
A shuddering breath from the other line, snapping him back into focus. “Matthew?” a familiar voice calls, quivering and nothing like the composed, polished quality he’s used to.
“Arthur?” he asks, sitting up. Worry at Arthur’s state makes ignoring the protest of his chest easy enough. He tries to think of something that could have lead to England becoming so distressed, but draws a blank. “Hey, are you alright? Where are you right now? Whose phone-“
“He’s gone, Matthew,” Arthur whispers.
For a moment, Matthew doesn’t know who he’s referring to.
“I can’t- Oh God, he’s gone, Matthew! He’s just- It’s like he was never here and I can’t- Oh God, oh God, oh God-“ Arthur chokes on a sob and just keeps muttering it over and over again, Oh God, oh God in a continuous mantra, and Matthew strains his thoughts, because just out of his reach he knows, knows who Arthur’s talking about-
It was a lot like looking into a mirror.
A reflection casted in sunlight, smiling at him from where He lay on the bed, blue eyes gem-bright as clouds sweep in to wash out his twin’s color and paint him in shades of gray, flickering, flickering-
And he does know, knows painfully well who Arthur’s talking about, who’s left a gaping hole in his chest, in that spot where he could always feel his brother’s heart beating in time with his own. Alfred can’t possibly be- He’s too strong for that, too alive and young and energetic to just be… gone.
“Arthur,” Matthew says, trying to inject some sense of sternness into his voice, and it’s hard because he has never been a very commanding person, not like, like, “Where’s Alfred? Y-you said you were going to check up on him tonight, right? He’s fine, right?”
A moment of silence, punctuated by Arthur’s attempts to push down the hiccups breaking apart his speech, and Matthew feels like whatever seams are holding him together are beginning to unravel and fall away.
“He’s-he’s not fine?” His voice is high, desperate. “Arthur, please-“
“He’s g-gone, Matthew. Oh God, he’s gone-“
Matthew disconnects from reality, retreats inward to memories centuries past.
Dimly, as if through a vast expanse of water, Matthew hears himself trying to comfort the man on the other line, trying to act as support for someone whose entire world’s fallen out from underneath him. He feels tension, like everything inside of him is slowly pulling taut, and suddenly he can’t tell if the pain of his chest is the remnants of Alfred’s or a sign he’s about to tear open.
Crystal Lattice (2/?)
anonymous
October 19 2009, 04:19:26 UTC
0 minutes
Time passes.
And Alfred is dead.
OoO
0 minutes
All he wants is for someone to tell him everything will be okay.
Pushing the door to Alfred’s house closed behind him, Arthur heads toward the master bedroom, trying in vain to ignore the creeping loneliness that comes with an empty home.
The sheets of the bed are rumpled, the comforter pushed back. Wind from an open window billows the curtains inward to catch on an overturned mug resting precariously on the window ledge.
A large spot of coffee blemishes the white carpet, will leave a stain that will linger, that will have to be removed, scrubbed clean.
In the dark, it can easily be mistaken for blood.
He wishes everything could be okay.
Arthur sits down on the bed slowly, grasping the blankets in his fists tightly and staring blankly out the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just make out what looks to be a sheet of paper sticking out from under a pillow cradling a cordless phone, still on.
Fingers trembling, Arthur turns the phone off and tries to breathe deep and even.
Before his eyes can even clear enough to read the note, he understands. It’s not going to be okay. Alfred is not going to be okay.
It’s over.
OoO
Hope this preview is enough to give some insight in regard to my style and the like, as well as the direction I plan for this to go. Like it? Hate it? Should I bother continuing? I know I said I was going to wait for it to be finished before posting, but…I feel like I need to see what people think before I commit myself to this. I don’t want to disappoint people.
0 minutes
Matthew isn’t sure if it’s the gradually diminishing pain suffusing through his chest cavity or the ringing of his cell phone that awakens him from his uneasy sleep.
He gropes blindly in the dark for his phone, squinting to try and read the time on his alarm clock without his glasses. 3:47 AM. Way too early to be woken up, especially when he has a meeting to attend in the morning. Through Matthew’s grogginess he dimly registers that his Caller ID reads “unknown name,” and he sighs in aggravation. If it’s some sort of prank call…
“Hello?” he answers through a muffled yawn, wincing when the pain in his chest spikes sharply at the movement. Bringing his free hand up to soothe the spot does nothing, and distantly, some part of him recognizes that the pain is somehow disconnected, too deep and too far for him to reach. He feels like he’s felt something like this before.
Fire licking at his chest, gnawing away at His capital while a blurry shadow screams shrilly into the smoke smothering the skyline.
A shuddering breath from the other line, snapping him back into focus. “Matthew?” a familiar voice calls, quivering and nothing like the composed, polished quality he’s used to.
“Arthur?” he asks, sitting up. Worry at Arthur’s state makes ignoring the protest of his chest easy enough. He tries to think of something that could have lead to England becoming so distressed, but draws a blank. “Hey, are you alright? Where are you right now? Whose phone-“
“He’s gone, Matthew,” Arthur whispers.
For a moment, Matthew doesn’t know who he’s referring to.
“I can’t- Oh God, he’s gone, Matthew! He’s just- It’s like he was never here and I can’t- Oh God, oh God, oh God-“ Arthur chokes on a sob and just keeps muttering it over and over again, Oh God, oh God in a continuous mantra, and Matthew strains his thoughts, because just out of his reach he knows, knows who Arthur’s talking about-
It was a lot like looking into a mirror.
A reflection casted in sunlight, smiling at him from where He lay on the bed, blue eyes gem-bright as clouds sweep in to wash out his twin’s color and paint him in shades of gray, flickering, flickering-
And he does know, knows painfully well who Arthur’s talking about, who’s left a gaping hole in his chest, in that spot where he could always feel his brother’s heart beating in time with his own. Alfred can’t possibly be- He’s too strong for that, too alive and young and energetic to just be… gone.
“Arthur,” Matthew says, trying to inject some sense of sternness into his voice, and it’s hard because he has never been a very commanding person, not like, like, “Where’s Alfred? Y-you said you were going to check up on him tonight, right? He’s fine, right?”
A moment of silence, punctuated by Arthur’s attempts to push down the hiccups breaking apart his speech, and Matthew feels like whatever seams are holding him together are beginning to unravel and fall away.
“He’s-he’s not fine?” His voice is high, desperate. “Arthur, please-“
“He’s g-gone, Matthew. Oh God, he’s gone-“
Matthew disconnects from reality, retreats inward to memories centuries past.
Dimly, as if through a vast expanse of water, Matthew hears himself trying to comfort the man on the other line, trying to act as support for someone whose entire world’s fallen out from underneath him. He feels tension, like everything inside of him is slowly pulling taut, and suddenly he can’t tell if the pain of his chest is the remnants of Alfred’s or a sign he’s about to tear open.
Alfred, Alfred, Alfred…
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0 minutes
Time passes.
And Alfred is dead.
OoO
0 minutes
All he wants is for someone to tell him everything will be okay.
Pushing the door to Alfred’s house closed behind him, Arthur heads toward the master bedroom, trying in vain to ignore the creeping loneliness that comes with an empty home.
The sheets of the bed are rumpled, the comforter pushed back. Wind from an open window billows the curtains inward to catch on an overturned mug resting precariously on the window ledge.
A large spot of coffee blemishes the white carpet, will leave a stain that will linger, that will have to be removed, scrubbed clean.
In the dark, it can easily be mistaken for blood.
He wishes everything could be okay.
Arthur sits down on the bed slowly, grasping the blankets in his fists tightly and staring blankly out the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he can just make out what looks to be a sheet of paper sticking out from under a pillow cradling a cordless phone, still on.
Fingers trembling, Arthur turns the phone off and tries to breathe deep and even.
Before his eyes can even clear enough to read the note, he understands. It’s not going to be okay. Alfred is not going to be okay.
It’s over.
OoO
Hope this preview is enough to give some insight in regard to my style and the like, as well as the direction I plan for this to go. Like it? Hate it? Should I bother continuing? I know I said I was going to wait for it to be finished before posting, but…I feel like I need to see what people think before I commit myself to this. I don’t want to disappoint people.
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The story is only leaving OP on the very edge of her seat.. And is hooked on it.
OP wishes for anon to continue!
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