(mind_the_muse) "Do you serve a purpose or purposely serve?"
- Have you ever been betrayed by someone you love dearly?
He sat. Unmoving. He wasn't sure for how long. All time was the same for him. He'd lost them. Slipped right through his blood slicked fingers.
One brother in a wash of blood and violence. Another in a wash of grief. His wife? Followed the ebbing tide of prior loyalty. He had made promises to them. Promised he'd broken because they were gone. He hadn't saved them. Promises to her. Death do them part.
He wondered what he's done wrong, because he was still breathing. Another promise broken. She was gone but he was still alive.
He brought it on himself.
He'd been warned. Biggs and CeCe should have taught him a lesson. Heart shredded by lynch mob and a single bullet. But it's had patched it's self together. Not healed, but learned to work. People he wanted to belong to.
But the truth was that he was flawed. He couldn't keep his promises. A weapon that couldn't do what it was built to do.
He lost family because he never should have had it.
Sometimes he wondered if he was even really there. If he ever really left the empty rooms.
He trusted others to tell him when it was enough. He was a bad judge of things. Always had been when it came to the space in his head. At least. . .after. After there was empty places. They made things, feelings, echo funny.
The people he let gage things weren't there. All gone after setting of rattling, echoing gun fire on the way out. He trusted, he relied, so it hurt. Some of them, he wanted to echo forever. Because when it stopped there was nothing left of them.
Maybe his pain was never worse than everyone else's because he wasn't real. He was just an object. A honed weapon. A broken thing. Someone would tell him if he was worth fixing.
Right?
He sat. With a M1911 in his left hand and his cell phone in his right. He didn't need to look to dial his big sister's number. It's only rang twice. "Ally? What do I do?"
"Come home."
Muse: Alec McDowell/X5-494
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 354
Open to RP
He sat. Unmoving. He wasn't sure for how long. All time was the same for him. He'd lost them. Slipped right through his blood slicked fingers.
One brother in a wash of blood and violence. Another in a wash of grief. His wife? Followed the ebbing tide of prior loyalty. He had made promises to them. Promised he'd broken because they were gone. He hadn't saved them. Promises to her. Death do them part.
He wondered what he's done wrong, because he was still breathing. Another promise broken. She was gone but he was still alive.
He brought it on himself.
He'd been warned. Biggs and CeCe should have taught him a lesson. Heart shredded by lynch mob and a single bullet. But it's had patched it's self together. Not healed, but learned to work. People he wanted to belong to.
But the truth was that he was flawed. He couldn't keep his promises. A weapon that couldn't do what it was built to do.
He lost family because he never should have had it.
Sometimes he wondered if he was even really there. If he ever really left the empty rooms.
He trusted others to tell him when it was enough. He was a bad judge of things. Always had been when it came to the space in his head. At least. . .after. After there was empty places. They made things, feelings, echo funny.
The people he let gage things weren't there. All gone after setting of rattling, echoing gun fire on the way out. He trusted, he relied, so it hurt. Some of them, he wanted to echo forever. Because when it stopped there was nothing left of them.
Maybe his pain was never worse than everyone else's because he wasn't real. He was just an object. A honed weapon. A broken thing. Someone would tell him if he was worth fixing.
Right?
He sat. With a M1911 in his left hand and his cell phone in his right. He didn't need to look to dial his big sister's number. It's only rang twice. "Ally? What do I do?"
"Come home."
Muse: Alec McDowell/X5-494
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 354
Open to RP