take my hand {kay; blitz
Feb 2, 2014 1:20:20 GMT -5
Post by cass on Feb 2, 2014 1:20:20 GMT -5
O P A L S H O R E
(You can’t save him, there is not a thing you can do to protect him. He’s gone. Gone, gone, gone.)
All my fault.
The hallways of the train were empty. One long, fine hand runs along the left wall, fingers pale, too thin, almost as though a sickness has etched themselves into each crease. It had been that way for sometime now, little sleep, vivid dreams, less food, more time in the house. The light was fading, the attention she had received dying and with it her need to remain strong, stoic and proud drifted a way as well. Danyel was of little comfort, most of her time was spent trying to tear his mind apart and pull from it the thing she could salvage to fix him. Whenever she wasn’t home she tried not to think of him. Thinking of him made her hurt. One more person to let down.
Was she finally entering the era of her reign where there was nothing, but depression? Was it that same coldness sliding up her skin the same one that claimed victor after victor, tearing away their attempts of joy and pleasure leaving behind nothing but raw, red sores that bleed. She missed her garden, she missed her old life. She didn’t want to be pausing in front of a carriage door, right hand tucked protectively around a leaf. She didn’t want to raise one hand a slowly knock on the carriage door. Brown, lifeless eyes, ringed with exhaustion and pain, scars and cuts just a reminder of suffering.
And her hand shook as it touch the cold door. One, two, three knocks, and it fell limply by her side.
Oh Argo. Forgive me.
All my fault.
The hallways of the train were empty. One long, fine hand runs along the left wall, fingers pale, too thin, almost as though a sickness has etched themselves into each crease. It had been that way for sometime now, little sleep, vivid dreams, less food, more time in the house. The light was fading, the attention she had received dying and with it her need to remain strong, stoic and proud drifted a way as well. Danyel was of little comfort, most of her time was spent trying to tear his mind apart and pull from it the thing she could salvage to fix him. Whenever she wasn’t home she tried not to think of him. Thinking of him made her hurt. One more person to let down.
Was she finally entering the era of her reign where there was nothing, but depression? Was it that same coldness sliding up her skin the same one that claimed victor after victor, tearing away their attempts of joy and pleasure leaving behind nothing but raw, red sores that bleed. She missed her garden, she missed her old life. She didn’t want to be pausing in front of a carriage door, right hand tucked protectively around a leaf. She didn’t want to raise one hand a slowly knock on the carriage door. Brown, lifeless eyes, ringed with exhaustion and pain, scars and cuts just a reminder of suffering.
And her hand shook as it touch the cold door. One, two, three knocks, and it fell limply by her side.
Oh Argo. Forgive me.
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