video & filtered. :( filtered away from yoite yukimi & shijima.
[ It's dark. At this hour, of course it would be. It's dark, and he should be home, but he isn't. He's at the SERO docks sitting under a semi-large damp wooden crate. Tiny legs have to be pulled in close, but there's plenty of head space. He hardly fills it up.
The only light that can bring even the slightest things into view comes from the screen of his NV. The spaces between boards around his makeshift shelter are visible. Strands of hair. Fingers like pale bird bones wrapped around his knees (covered by black socks, as usual). Thin little spider leg fingers wrapped in redbrown stained bandages. Bruises and burns dotted down the palms and wrists.
He's disoriented. He hasn't slept, except for in tiny spurts, or eaten anything in the last few days. This eating and not eating business. "Eating". Sipping juice and squirrel-biting pieces of candy. 'Are you hungry?' 'Do you want to eat?' 'What do you like to eat best?' Always filling up other stomachs, but never his own. Never. 'Let's eat together.' Never. 'I'm hungry.' 'I'm tired,' sometimes, but not: 'I'm hungry.'
Essentially, no appetite whatsoever. His clothes are becoming too loose. Even those tale-tell socks. He's shrinking, and there's no will to stop it and he's hardly paying attention. It doesn't matter.
An honest body for a dishonest boy. ]
We're make believing it's three in the afternoon instead, because I'm wide awake.
I've been wondering about things, I guess. Like, is it always so difficult to say what needs to be said? Or is it difficult because maybe they don't need to be said at all? And is it harmful to let something important go or is more harmful to cling to it?
[ Disoriented and rambling and half aware of what he's saying and half not. ]
If you've already granted a wish you knew was important and- what if you- [ growling from some of the creatures of Darkness near by. This box of his could easily be tipped, he could easily be torn limb from limb, but he only exhales a deadpan sort of sigh and says, ] so loud.
Which is worse: waiting for someone to die or making it so they never were?
The only light that can bring even the slightest things into view comes from the screen of his NV. The spaces between boards around his makeshift shelter are visible. Strands of hair. Fingers like pale bird bones wrapped around his knees (covered by black socks, as usual). Thin little spider leg fingers wrapped in redbrown stained bandages. Bruises and burns dotted down the palms and wrists.
He's disoriented. He hasn't slept, except for in tiny spurts, or eaten anything in the last few days. This eating and not eating business. "Eating". Sipping juice and squirrel-biting pieces of candy. 'Are you hungry?' 'Do you want to eat?' 'What do you like to eat best?' Always filling up other stomachs, but never his own. Never. 'Let's eat together.' Never. 'I'm hungry.' 'I'm tired,' sometimes, but not: 'I'm hungry.'
Essentially, no appetite whatsoever. His clothes are becoming too loose. Even those tale-tell socks. He's shrinking, and there's no will to stop it and he's hardly paying attention. It doesn't matter.
An honest body for a dishonest boy. ]
We're make believing it's three in the afternoon instead, because I'm wide awake.
I've been wondering about things, I guess. Like, is it always so difficult to say what needs to be said? Or is it difficult because maybe they don't need to be said at all? And is it harmful to let something important go or is more harmful to cling to it?
[ Disoriented and rambling and half aware of what he's saying and half not. ]
If you've already granted a wish you knew was important and- what if you- [ growling from some of the creatures of Darkness near by. This box of his could easily be tipped, he could easily be torn limb from limb, but he only exhales a deadpan sort of sigh and says, ] so loud.
Which is worse: waiting for someone to die or making it so they never were?