Untitled short thing
Just a lil short thing, since SailorLight22 thinks Lucky needs angst. Blame is hers.
Untitled
By SisterWicked
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He blinked up at the man who held him, his shock only slightly dampened by the low rush of sound in his ears. Opening his mouth to speak was hard, much harder than it should have been, when he'd spoken to this person over and over, told them his wishes and fears.. He'd told this person that he loved them, that the feeling was there despite what he knew would come of it.
Watching him cry was confusing, was that really blood, or just a trick of the low light that made it look like that? Was it the darkening of his vision that made it so? He didn't know.
The feeling of a finger brushing a heart was such a small thing, more unusual and strange than painful, but the implication of it was more than hurt, more even than agony. Was this feeling betrayal, could that really be a physical thing?
Even leaning at this angle he could see the tip-end of a scratch along the other's neck, a mark he'd left himself in the aftermath of a thing he hadn't believed could be made physical.
In the end, why had he expected anything less of this person, weren't they meant to bring harm, to crush out life? He hadn't believed that either.
When the fingers took hold, he flinched, but it still felt like nothing.
A movement of lips and air was something, words that made sense and yet did not.
'I don't want to/ I have to/ They will if I won't/ Can it be me?'
The sound was blurred, but he understood well enough to nod, to let it be this hand that un-made him. He wanted to believe in their pain.
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Well isn't that vague-but-not..
Untitled
By SisterWicked
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He blinked up at the man who held him, his shock only slightly dampened by the low rush of sound in his ears. Opening his mouth to speak was hard, much harder than it should have been, when he'd spoken to this person over and over, told them his wishes and fears.. He'd told this person that he loved them, that the feeling was there despite what he knew would come of it.
Watching him cry was confusing, was that really blood, or just a trick of the low light that made it look like that? Was it the darkening of his vision that made it so? He didn't know.
The feeling of a finger brushing a heart was such a small thing, more unusual and strange than painful, but the implication of it was more than hurt, more even than agony. Was this feeling betrayal, could that really be a physical thing?
Even leaning at this angle he could see the tip-end of a scratch along the other's neck, a mark he'd left himself in the aftermath of a thing he hadn't believed could be made physical.
In the end, why had he expected anything less of this person, weren't they meant to bring harm, to crush out life? He hadn't believed that either.
When the fingers took hold, he flinched, but it still felt like nothing.
A movement of lips and air was something, words that made sense and yet did not.
'I don't want to/ I have to/ They will if I won't/ Can it be me?'
The sound was blurred, but he understood well enough to nod, to let it be this hand that un-made him. He wanted to believe in their pain.
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Well isn't that vague-but-not..