Bury Me Softly [Shen Tangaroa Death]

Bury me softly in this womb
I kept this part of me from you
Sand rains down and here I sit
Holding rare flowers in a tomb... in bloom

He had collapsed against a dumpster, lost in some unnamed alley way too far from his home to reach. (It had been a foolish thought, leaving his home when he was so weak.) So much time had passed since he had been able to eat anything, too long. Weeks had passed since he could remember what feeling satisfied had been. Now he could hardly swallow, a nasty pain slashing through his lethargy each time he tried. How had so much gone wrong, to leave him fading so quickly. In truth it had not been quick, and certainly not painless. There was no sense of hunger or thirst left in him now, no need to intake substances. A dry mouth left him with a horrible taste in his mouth, but even a sense of taste or smell was disappearing. His arms shook as his body attempted to swallow, pain slicing up and down his throat like a knife.

Down in a hole and I don't know if I can be saved
See my heart I decorate it like a grave
Well you don't understand who they

If only it was a knife that was killing him. He would rather be tortured by someone with a blade than by this never-ending fatigue. Sleep could not cure it, and there was no way he could eat or drink anything. Shadows danced around him, flickering like black flames as he lay in the darkness. The looming shape of the dumpster he leaned against looked so huge from where he was, only looking small compared to the two buildings on either side of they alley. Broken, Shen could do nothing more than stare up at the sliver of sky above. It was night, the darkest blue of the sky leaving little light around. (There were no stars, and all moonlight was blocked by the structures around him.) Stick hands shivered their way to rest on top of legs made up of no more than twigs. He looked like he could snap at any second.

Thought I was supposed to be
Look at me now I'm a man
Who won't let himself be

Flesh and bone were all there was left of him, weeks of starvation leaving him without muscle and the little fat he had had before. (Life had never been kind to him, and he knew it wouldn't ever be.) The faintest sound of his breathing clawed its way up his throat, a hiss of air that would be as close to a groan as he could make. Stupidity had dragged him from the little place he had claimed as home, left him first walking and then crawling outside. He was reminded of how stories told of dogs leaving a pack when they knew they were going to die, the touch of a smile cracking across his face. His lower lip split and began to bleed, sluggish as though it had all the time in the world or perhaps it just wasn't that important.

Down in a hole, feelin so small
Down in a hole, losin my soul
I'd like to fly but my
Wings have been so denied

Slowly, creaking like an old branch, the terribly thin fingers tightened around handfuls of baggy clothes. They were too weak to hold it tight, but a small feeling of security warmed in his chest. He would not let go of himself, and yet all he wished for was to leave this tedious process far behind. He had to think if there was any way, surely his end was near but it was not near enough. (Too long he had expected to die with no avail.) As he had sickened he had grown less and less able to scrounge any sort of money up, meaning no food to buy. Money, the idea of it make his shrunken stomach churn. So much was centered on something that - if not for the foolish importance put on it by people - would be worth nothing. It was paper and metal, nothing of any value besides what humans assigned to it. (Now it would be the cause of his death.)

Down in a hole and they've put all
The stones in their place
I've eaten the sun so my tongue
Has been burned of the taste

His breathing grew harsh and strained, weak hands clenching in the hope that he could breathe easier again but it never came. Time splashed across his face like a sticky blue paint, (making it plain to anyone who passed that the final minutes were ticking down for him,) the colour so vivid that it could be nothing but the final coat. It blinded him, leaving him in the dark without any understanding of where he was. Everything that was once so firmly in his grasp now slipped away when he reached for them. The knowledge of which direction was home was completely lost, any idea of up and down had faded into the sole sensation of a large solid object pressed against his back. (For a moment he felt as though it was world, resting on his back and crushing him.) What air he was able to take into his lungs became even less as the pressure of the whole world crushed him against the nothingness below him.

I have been guilty
Of kicking myself in the teeth
I will speak no more
Of my feelings beneath

He fell completely limp as the world crushed him, chest collapsed from the exertion. The world snapped into place again but it was already too late - the boy was swallowed by the blackness of space. Unconscious, he looked only slightly more at peace. (Even now he was experiencing an internal hollowness that didn't just come from a lack of anything in his stomach.) With nothing left to live for, his body shuddered in his final stage of life. A spasm sent his head leaning to one side as his arms leaped across his body. As he came to stillness once more there was a soft rustle as his form slid sideways. Now laying motionless in the middle of a forgotten ally, the young boy - only sixteen - didn't feel anything more. Behind closed lids, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his jaws parted in a final moan. A single drop of saliva crept to the corner of his mouth, sticking there like the last pearl of a night's dew.

Down in a hole, feelin so small
Down in a hole, losin my soul
Down in a hole, feelin so small
Down in a hole, outta control

The last traces of the boy's broken mind died as his body shut down. With a final beat, his heart jerked and stopped. The scar on his torso was stretched tight over his ribs, elongated as his suffering had been. He was now able to be with his father again, the four years since his murder suddenly abandoned as they were joined in death. In a way, they had both been killed by his mother - his father stabbed by the wicked bitch while he was left an orphan. It was only an amazement that he hadn't died sooner, something to be attributed to the desire for revenge. Now that revenge would go without being served, but there would be time for that when she died too. (Then not even all of hell could keep him from killing her over and over again.) His suffering finally over, Shen Tangaroa stepped into the arms of his father and left the world behind.

I'd like to fly but my
Wings have been so denied