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two days or one or three for he cant find it in him to think of it in numbers
four were taken two returned
he wanted even one. it tears him up with guilt. but he would have done anything for just one
shouts again
it doesnt actually make him feel better but it feels right in his head that someone should suffer with him this agony
memories slosh by in vignettes from soft to borderline torturous
swills the fire-liquid around in his mouth to lessen the sting it never does hes throwing water on a grease fire trying his best trying he holds his breath and counts to ten. one two three four dead one two eyes cold dead one two three
one two three four five lia’s eyes wrenched open in shock her lips frozen in a scream of pain the knife. in her back the knife. her unmoving chest. he sees nothing at all hears nothing at all but white static crackling rushes to her like she hasnt been cold for hours
feels her pulse again for the one two of her heart nothing oh gods nothing. nothing at all. cold empty dead dead dead dead dead
someone says this cant be real
someone puts an arm on his shoulder and he flinches. im so sorry
grabs them by the collar of their neck
screams himself raw. no words come from his worthless throat
howling till hes dragged kicking and screaming from her corpse cant be real
she laughs and swings her arm around his shoulder and its warm and shes gone again, frozen in a timeless screech of agony he wishes he could shoulder every last drop of pain she must have felt drink it flood it through himself but he didnt he failed theyre gone he failed her
every breath from his wind-torn lungs is ripped from his aching chest crackling spitting
no different from his mothers when they lay together at night his trembling hand clutching the front of her robe. he hasnt had nightmares since he was alone. she loved ravens. her favorite color was hidden in the crevices of Her most beloved embrace. not in the endless darkness of the night but in the glint of the moonlight against the bend of each wing the blue the darkest and desolate of all blues the deathly blue pallor of her skin as she took his hand in hers for the last time
she asked him to promise him one last thing her breath came in a slowing heave she always loved to laugh ugly gods so ugly
he said anything. please anything just dont leave us leave me here alone mother please
please take care of your siblings for me
i will
pray for mepray for you pray for me to who to what god what god would allow this oh gods. hes not dreamingNot
hurts again like a crackle of thunder a jolt of lightning searing the nerves under his skin she’s gonethey’re GONE they’re gone they’regone they’re not dead they’re gone where she is no pain no hunger no sorrow im sorry so sorry ugly filth dead eyes
he doesnt know he doesnt know anything but the taste of blood in his mouth the way his teeth grate against his lips as he tries not to bite his tongue clean off the plough-trails his nails leave across his arms as he scrapes and scrapes in search of a new beginning under all that flesh
one two three four five six cals head. cals head. cals head oh gods no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no not you too
my baby brother
my poor baby brother
thats all we could find im so sorry
he cries out to every god that might listen that night he holds lias knife the one she fought with the one that killed her to his chest like killing his heart might bring the life back to theirs A blood offering to who. to who must he pray to receive sacrament anything
the sanctuary of his mind shatters into thousands of glittering pieces burying themselves in his hands wrapping around his throat like a necklace of thorns
he tried so hard but it wasnt enough
worthless piece of shit
worthless nobody
there is nothing for him in the dirt in this lonely room in this cursed wretched land he never should have stayed gods he
sands down the shards of glass in his hand till theyre smooth theyre a part of his hand he looks down at his hands dotted with slivers of transparent empty
blank eyes glass eyes so lost in thought all alone
lias eyes and the one they left of cals if not the horror of his torn neck blood red mother hated red.
blank eyes in the mirror so empty lost alone unlovable nothing no one in all the realms is left for him. nothing. the letter in his pocket feels like a dirty insult a spit in the face in his overwhelming nothing they’re dead
the blades not good enough for him
itll be everything you wanted and more
it wont be all that at all
go for me
death-red. bloodshot. he hasnt slept in days since he saw hes terrified that if he closes his eyes hell see them again corpses blue the same corpse-blue the stench of their decaying bloody bodies beautifully disgusting red blue red blue
one two three four five six
one two just breathe rolan just
one two three four five six seven one dead two dead one just one just rolan just rolan just rolan just rolan
he could join them like he was meant to
take care of them for me
okay
but take care of yourself, tooDONT say that dont just dont pretend like it means the same thing he should have died for them he should have held them close to his chest at least. at least that. miserable worthless nothing at all. what good is he if theres not a damn person left who loves him
it might be funny if it wasnt so damn sad
he lays down what killed her weak. coward
cant breathe lately without what eats him alive from the inside. eating his lungs. chewing them into pieces slowly and slowly nothing left for him to swallow pain thirst empty
drink it all up and throw it up again
go on
howl and wail and break things they broke him why should he be the only one broken they let him anyway because they pity him how dare they. how dare they. dig his nails into their stupid pulsing bloody WARM flesh KILL them KILL him they should have KILLED him he would kill them if they would let him but thats not what we would want is it rolan
take a breath
one two three four five six
seven eight nine ten
sweat drips from his heaving brow
ten nights pass in an instant in the land without sun
one blink and a thousand seconds pass and one day he might be at lorroakan’s tower. thinking of their smiles, the cadence of their voices. looking up every time he hears footsteps in the doorway hoping… hoping that
not
three two
breathing heavily again, clutching himself tightly, the last one left to share his lonely embrace. the moonlight shines above him through the window onto the floor the only source of light in the dismal shit-heap his room has become
he will live
because its what he deserves.