Following This
What do you live for?
Most memories burned like fire, scorning him…reminding him of what the world was made of when laid bare. There was nothing in life that he had lived for, save that taking one’s own life was among the highest sins. And so he had lived on, and then he had died…violently.
There were scars, of course. Hidden wounds that Percy didn’t lay bare to the world, locked away in little boxes, and keys tossed out the windows ages ago.
Until, it seemed, too much alcohol was involved. And then it seemed as if the world of keys rained down upon him, gave everyone and anyone clever enough the access they needed to find a hole. To read a piece of script, to own something deep within that no one else owned.
What did he live for? Percy lived to avoid hell, he lived for the moments he didn’t share with anyone. He lived…
For memories.
Because some wouldn’t wish for his death, and because others would rejoice in it.
In all honesty, he wouldn’t know what to do in death anymore than he knew what to do in life, which was decidedly troublesome. His soul was weary, aged and wearing thin. Cracks were growing larger, and loneliness was a prison and a blessing.
Maybe he was just going insane.
He found himself pacing his hallway before the sun set, his eyes hallow as he let thoughts wonder. He didn’t think of himself as an emotional creature, it was a waste of time to concern ones self with feelings. But he was haunted by something unnamable.
What was it?
Foolish promises. Anson was making foolish promises like Luca had, as others that had been forgotten had. What was the point of a promise when someone couldn’t keep it?
Why are you still alive?
A victim had asked him that, looking deep into his eyes as life escaped her’s.
You don’t have anything in life worth living for…
What did he live for? What….
What…
Why did he bother with such stupid questions?!
Growling Percy stopped, wrapping his arms behind his head and frowning as he looked up toward the ceiling. Trying to clean his mind. Trying to forget that maybe, in reality, he didn’t have anything worth staying alive for.
Only a knock on his door drew his attention…
Who the fuck could that be?
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 393
Most memories burned like fire, scorning him…reminding him of what the world was made of when laid bare. There was nothing in life that he had lived for, save that taking one’s own life was among the highest sins. And so he had lived on, and then he had died…violently.
There were scars, of course. Hidden wounds that Percy didn’t lay bare to the world, locked away in little boxes, and keys tossed out the windows ages ago.
Until, it seemed, too much alcohol was involved. And then it seemed as if the world of keys rained down upon him, gave everyone and anyone clever enough the access they needed to find a hole. To read a piece of script, to own something deep within that no one else owned.
What did he live for? Percy lived to avoid hell, he lived for the moments he didn’t share with anyone. He lived…
For memories.
Because some wouldn’t wish for his death, and because others would rejoice in it.
In all honesty, he wouldn’t know what to do in death anymore than he knew what to do in life, which was decidedly troublesome. His soul was weary, aged and wearing thin. Cracks were growing larger, and loneliness was a prison and a blessing.
Maybe he was just going insane.
He found himself pacing his hallway before the sun set, his eyes hallow as he let thoughts wonder. He didn’t think of himself as an emotional creature, it was a waste of time to concern ones self with feelings. But he was haunted by something unnamable.
What was it?
Foolish promises. Anson was making foolish promises like Luca had, as others that had been forgotten had. What was the point of a promise when someone couldn’t keep it?
Why are you still alive?
A victim had asked him that, looking deep into his eyes as life escaped her’s.
You don’t have anything in life worth living for…
What did he live for? What….
What…
Why did he bother with such stupid questions?!
Growling Percy stopped, wrapping his arms behind his head and frowning as he looked up toward the ceiling. Trying to clean his mind. Trying to forget that maybe, in reality, he didn’t have anything worth staying alive for.
Only a knock on his door drew his attention…
Who the fuck could that be?
===
William Percy Hastings
OC
word count: 393