Dream
Laughter, happy laughter. Hugs and hands and fingers in his hair, steady and always there. Big, strong hands lifting him up, gloves made of sweet, soft leather ruffling through his hair, there to tuck his own fingers into. Small, soft hands and spindly arms around his neck, scratchy lace and warm weight. Soft cool fingers over his brow, worried murmurs and sweet voices, fuzzy vision and heated puffy breaths, and a warm tongue licking the tips of his fingers.
Falling.
It was so hard to breathe.
The only color was the red of blood, and the sound of someone screaming, high and barely human.
The sound hit him like a tempest, rolled him under and drowned his mind in its pain and cruelty; he realized he was the one screaming. Hands. Hands holding him down, holding him still, catching him, keeping him on his knees. Fingers tightened around his heart until the screams choked out into nothingness, and he was unable to breathe. Pain in his chest, in his stomach, in his lower back, in his eyes, his eye-
Burn it.
Circus music. Organ and drums. Laughter, come one, come all, see things of fancy, of exhilaration, of death. Death?
Death.
Mission, there was a purpose. There was uncertainty, there was confusion, but there was a purpose. There was a letter, a kindly old voice overtaken by the voice of a man, loud and clear.
"From today onwards, we have some new friends. Newcomers "Black" and "Smile"!"
Smile? Smile -- that was wrong, why was it wrong? That shouldn't be his name, but... was it his name?
Sounds of clapping, cheering, and yes, yes he must, it was required, it was-
A gunshot.
Burn it.
"Yes, my lord."
... and the fire spread.
Falling.
It was so hard to breathe.
The only color was the red of blood, and the sound of someone screaming, high and barely human.
The sound hit him like a tempest, rolled him under and drowned his mind in its pain and cruelty; he realized he was the one screaming. Hands. Hands holding him down, holding him still, catching him, keeping him on his knees. Fingers tightened around his heart until the screams choked out into nothingness, and he was unable to breathe. Pain in his chest, in his stomach, in his lower back, in his eyes, his eye-
Burn it.
Circus music. Organ and drums. Laughter, come one, come all, see things of fancy, of exhilaration, of death. Death?
Death.
Mission, there was a purpose. There was uncertainty, there was confusion, but there was a purpose. There was a letter, a kindly old voice overtaken by the voice of a man, loud and clear.
"From today onwards, we have some new friends. Newcomers "Black" and "Smile"!"
Smile? Smile -- that was wrong, why was it wrong? That shouldn't be his name, but... was it his name?
Sounds of clapping, cheering, and yes, yes he must, it was required, it was-
A gunshot.
Burn it.
"Yes, my lord."
... and the fire spread.