(no subject)
He's gone.
Not out, not like he was yesterday. Not out like to the Compound, the orchard. Out like never returned. Disappeared. Gone.
She's looked. She's walked the soles of her ballet flats through, torn her stockings, cut her heels. Walked and walked ‘til she was sick with it, thighs trembling and tears spent.
Cassie wants to do so much worse.
It isn't as if she ever truly believed that things could be good. Even in the moments she was undeniably, deliriously happy, Cassie never expected that it might last. She’d bid goodbye to the last of her youthful hope at seventeen years, cast it to the same winds Sid cast her broken heart and let herself fall with it. It might have been fate that sent her running scattershot into Sirius’ welcoming arms after, but it’s fate that’s the cruelest of all. Everyone leaves the island eventually. Everyone left behind hurts. The truth of it is inevitable. Unmoving. Unyielding.
Cassie is so very tired of standing still.
Her body is tired, too, but when she at last gets out of bed and crosses the room to the table, the chair lifts easily in her hands. She stares at it, hefts it in her arms and waits for it to fall, but the manic strength in her limbs doesn’t fail. Well then.
No need for the death of this particular dream to be quiet.
The windows of the hut are shifting panels, not glass, but the first one bursts in the same glorious cacophony, splintered wood flying, catching in her hair, her skirts. The sound of it is fantastic, and Cassie’s fingers are eager on the second chair, her small body all but vibrating with the thrill and ecstasy of her destruction.
The second chair follows the first out the window, the crack and crunch of it even better than before, and Cassie crawls through the gaping hole, landing on the ground beyond with her face a rictus caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. Not done, not enough, and she won’t be until it is all of it gone.
“Don’t tell me it’s all right,” she calls breathlessly to Alan, standing there at the clearing’s edge. “It’s coming down, it’s all coming down.”
He must hear her, but he doesn’t move. Cassie reaches red hands to the ground, seizes the biggest rock she can find, and throws it right at his head. “It isn’t all right!”
[ooc: post timed to tomorrow morning due to my limited availability this week. please note that Alan is not real and your pup won't see or hear him.]
Not out, not like he was yesterday. Not out like to the Compound, the orchard. Out like never returned. Disappeared. Gone.
She's looked. She's walked the soles of her ballet flats through, torn her stockings, cut her heels. Walked and walked ‘til she was sick with it, thighs trembling and tears spent.
Cassie wants to do so much worse.
It isn't as if she ever truly believed that things could be good. Even in the moments she was undeniably, deliriously happy, Cassie never expected that it might last. She’d bid goodbye to the last of her youthful hope at seventeen years, cast it to the same winds Sid cast her broken heart and let herself fall with it. It might have been fate that sent her running scattershot into Sirius’ welcoming arms after, but it’s fate that’s the cruelest of all. Everyone leaves the island eventually. Everyone left behind hurts. The truth of it is inevitable. Unmoving. Unyielding.
Cassie is so very tired of standing still.
Her body is tired, too, but when she at last gets out of bed and crosses the room to the table, the chair lifts easily in her hands. She stares at it, hefts it in her arms and waits for it to fall, but the manic strength in her limbs doesn’t fail. Well then.
No need for the death of this particular dream to be quiet.
The windows of the hut are shifting panels, not glass, but the first one bursts in the same glorious cacophony, splintered wood flying, catching in her hair, her skirts. The sound of it is fantastic, and Cassie’s fingers are eager on the second chair, her small body all but vibrating with the thrill and ecstasy of her destruction.
The second chair follows the first out the window, the crack and crunch of it even better than before, and Cassie crawls through the gaping hole, landing on the ground beyond with her face a rictus caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. Not done, not enough, and she won’t be until it is all of it gone.
“Don’t tell me it’s all right,” she calls breathlessly to Alan, standing there at the clearing’s edge. “It’s coming down, it’s all coming down.”
He must hear her, but he doesn’t move. Cassie reaches red hands to the ground, seizes the biggest rock she can find, and throws it right at his head. “It isn’t all right!”
[ooc: post timed to tomorrow morning due to my limited availability this week. please note that Alan is not real and your pup won't see or hear him.]