manipulated living {sunny/finn, jb!blitz}

sunny {♔} hemmings

We all make excuses.

But yet they come round, causing us to realize that whatever string of words we tied together for years upon end was finally wearing thin, only a fiber from snapping completely. Finn and Jonas had held onto the same string for longer than I can remember, saying that anything they did was under the guise of righteousness, when only they craved to fill their own selfish needs. They longed for adventure at their fingertips and morale to spread throughout the ground they treaded upon, yet it was apparent that they were never quite content with the kingdom they roamed. It was if a throne to call their own wasn’t enough, and in turn they pushed further and further, leaving on conquest upon conquest in an attempt to fill a void that wasn’t there.

They wouldn’t come back this time (Finn wouldn’t anyway).

For Jonas watched him like a mother over her newborn child, and I’m almost positive that Jonas hadn’t let the boy walk on his own until he was almost four. Finn lived in a controlled environment, much to his ignorance on the matter (though Finn was ignorant about many things, I suppose). The world would hit him with more force than Jonas could ever prepare him for, and it would only take one gash, one hit of metal upon flesh to bring his world out of the darkness it selfishly hid in.

There was no light hidden at the end of this tunnel, and no single flame of childish hope could illuminate a place so bleak.

There was no light hidden within the confines of my bitter heart, either.

And as I took each purposeful step I attempted to analyze where this anger stemmed from, constantly running through the few options. Was it Matilda, with her nonchalant attitude about the whole idea? Maybe it was Zackariah, who as usual was completely oblivious to all cultural norms. Could it have been from Jonas, who should’ve tried just a bit holder to draw rein about him, holding him tightly as he had for so long?

No, these were all excuses.

This anger stemmed from the source of this journey, and after being shown to the door behind which stood this source, I took a moment to pull the jumble of thoughts together into some coherent form. But there’s not one to be found no matter the recesses in my mind I search, so much to my displeasure I push the heavy doors open with disgust lingering on my tongue as I catch sight of Finn fiddling with something trivial, I assume.

“What’s your excuse this time, Finn?” And yet I know the answer, but still I stand with arms crossed and heart heavy as I wait for an answer.