[Action post to Denzel and Avalanche]
[He remembers very little of the whole event. Instead, his mind retains burnt-out details selectively - small circles of fluorescent spacetime surrounded by an infinite sea of darkness. A burst of activity, as the plane began to descend. Auditory ability muted by sheer bombardment of the senses. The gaping, cerulean mouth of the yawning ocean below.
Shelke's face, slick with perspiration, pale and still strangely porcelain. His own hand, catching hers as if by accident as the world collapsed around them.
Then, the endlessness of time, meaningless without the signals of change. Past, present, future, slipping under the surface of fading awareness. He could have drifted for a few minutes. He could have drifted for years. Though sensibility tells him better, impossibility has become a laughable notion of late.
The water does not forgive. As such, he finds himself not submerged in the peace of the Lifestream, his body undergoing predictable autolysis on the ocean floor - a meal for the fishes, but on a deserted portion of shore.
It's cold.
It's mid morning.
It's ashes and sea salt permeating his entire being. It's defeat sinking into the marrow of his bones. It's suicide hanging like a yellow paper moon above the horizon of his desires.
He feels like a corpse, body swaying lightly on the border between land and water, soul swinging with pendulum motion between dissipation and wholeness.
Hojo's eyes are closed against the world.
Death.
One.
Last.
Time.]
Shelke's face, slick with perspiration, pale and still strangely porcelain. His own hand, catching hers as if by accident as the world collapsed around them.
Then, the endlessness of time, meaningless without the signals of change. Past, present, future, slipping under the surface of fading awareness. He could have drifted for a few minutes. He could have drifted for years. Though sensibility tells him better, impossibility has become a laughable notion of late.
The water does not forgive. As such, he finds himself not submerged in the peace of the Lifestream, his body undergoing predictable autolysis on the ocean floor - a meal for the fishes, but on a deserted portion of shore.
It's cold.
It's mid morning.
It's ashes and sea salt permeating his entire being. It's defeat sinking into the marrow of his bones. It's suicide hanging like a yellow paper moon above the horizon of his desires.
He feels like a corpse, body swaying lightly on the border between land and water, soul swinging with pendulum motion between dissipation and wholeness.
Hojo's eyes are closed against the world.
Death.
One.
Last.
Time.]