Post by Deleted on Mar 13, 2017 12:21:33 GMT -5
[presto]
[/presto]h e l i o s d e l a c r o i xSun licks my skin between colored leaves, between technicolor and screaming and please please- please, I cant see between tear licks, like hemophilia except it's all in my head. It's all in my head, I try to tell myself, try to plead to myself but I know it isn't. Know that it can not be, as crayon melts like candle wax across my fingers, and I choke. Choke as one body drops, chokes as Eszter turns away from me and god I'm weak, I know it.
"And who the hell do you think you are?"
"Eszter," what are we, man or murder? How am I supposed to question any of this if none of it made sense to begin with, how do I realize anything, even say that I'm learning when none of this makes sense. Screaming fish and flying walrus, I've bled before, muscle tears in my leg and it's the worse pain I've been through- I can't imagine how Percy could've done it. Then I remember she didn't, and that I was the idiot all along.
My hand slips, the wax burning between my fingers as I trip on my words, coughing as easy as I bleed, my leg shakes and gives out as I try to build distance. Try to build in an arena of destroying, that's never been me- "Fuck-" And I give out, grabbing onto her hand as gravity itself breaks beneath me and we've done this before, I thought I would die clean.
It's funny, that I didn't give up on that until after I broke gravity twice.
And it's a well, panicked tears and quivering, falling up and into Eszter's hair, I'm weak. Emotionally I've always been, I've always been told and burned that I was, and I thought it was okay, but now I realize it isn't. And of everything I've realized, I guess this one has to be true, huh Percy? White knuckles holding onto Eszter for dear life as we fall split second, I let go. Bury my face in my hands, breath.
Fall.
Pick it back up again, pretend that between God and I that I can play this off, but I can't. We murdered two people, and maybe we weren't in the wrong- they would kill me if we hadn't. Is it selfish to say I killed so I wouldnt die? The axe beside me, melting and bloodied and disfigured like two bodies, two broken and severed things, blood down to my skin, splattered like water color across my legs, across my everything and "goodness sakes," I can't do this, I shake and burn and Eszter tries to say something. Preach about how we could've lost the Eckharts and I groan something dying, something that's been in my throat for longer than two days, harder than eighteen years.
"I can't fucking do this-" wrath in my bones, a coursing of blood past something holy, hurling the axe into the trees mid sentence. "I can't die like that Eszter," a nervousness in my skeleton, panicked and part of me prays this isn't what dying is like but the other part of me knows. "I-" I am no Ansgar, I can't go through this just on the faith of my god because through the bleeding and screaming and killing I know my god's dead, just as I've been stripped away, naked and bleeding.
"Either you make armor, or I kill you here."
I choke, and assume she has never been the best with words. A gentle nod, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand before pressing crayons in her hands. Wisteria, a helmet, etched over blonde hair; gold, chausses, stretched over my legs just like the pair she had, Ave; melon, pink and tender like the flesh beneath it. Eszter rubs her palms against the cuts along my hips and chalk stings like a promise, if I die, I go like a warrior.
I go like Percy.
And my eye twitches as I think, cadet blue staining the tips of my fingers. I lost my axe, thrown into the forest like lesser thoughts, I try not to think about it. For once this is something of my own creation, and I'm too scared to make anything but a sword. Skinny and slender and barely.big enough to wrap my hands around. It's now or never, right Percy?
"And who the hell do you think you are?"
"Fuck you, she was mine."
"Eszter," what are we, man or murder? How am I supposed to question any of this if none of it made sense to begin with, how do I realize anything, even say that I'm learning when none of this makes sense. Screaming fish and flying walrus, I've bled before, muscle tears in my leg and it's the worse pain I've been through- I can't imagine how Percy could've done it. Then I remember she didn't, and that I was the idiot all along.
My hand slips, the wax burning between my fingers as I trip on my words, coughing as easy as I bleed, my leg shakes and gives out as I try to build distance. Try to build in an arena of destroying, that's never been me- "Fuck-" And I give out, grabbing onto her hand as gravity itself breaks beneath me and we've done this before, I thought I would die clean.
It's funny, that I didn't give up on that until after I broke gravity twice.
And it's a well, panicked tears and quivering, falling up and into Eszter's hair, I'm weak. Emotionally I've always been, I've always been told and burned that I was, and I thought it was okay, but now I realize it isn't. And of everything I've realized, I guess this one has to be true, huh Percy? White knuckles holding onto Eszter for dear life as we fall split second, I let go. Bury my face in my hands, breath.
Fall.
Pick it back up again, pretend that between God and I that I can play this off, but I can't. We murdered two people, and maybe we weren't in the wrong- they would kill me if we hadn't. Is it selfish to say I killed so I wouldnt die? The axe beside me, melting and bloodied and disfigured like two bodies, two broken and severed things, blood down to my skin, splattered like water color across my legs, across my everything and "goodness sakes," I can't do this, I shake and burn and Eszter tries to say something. Preach about how we could've lost the Eckharts and I groan something dying, something that's been in my throat for longer than two days, harder than eighteen years.
"I can't fucking do this-" wrath in my bones, a coursing of blood past something holy, hurling the axe into the trees mid sentence. "I can't die like that Eszter," a nervousness in my skeleton, panicked and part of me prays this isn't what dying is like but the other part of me knows. "I-" I am no Ansgar, I can't go through this just on the faith of my god because through the bleeding and screaming and killing I know my god's dead, just as I've been stripped away, naked and bleeding.
"Just kill me if I'm so weak."
"Either you make armor, or I kill you here."
I choke, and assume she has never been the best with words. A gentle nod, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand before pressing crayons in her hands. Wisteria, a helmet, etched over blonde hair; gold, chausses, stretched over my legs just like the pair she had, Ave; melon, pink and tender like the flesh beneath it. Eszter rubs her palms against the cuts along my hips and chalk stings like a promise, if I die, I go like a warrior.
I go like Percy.
And my eye twitches as I think, cadet blue staining the tips of my fingers. I lost my axe, thrown into the forest like lesser thoughts, I try not to think about it. For once this is something of my own creation, and I'm too scared to make anything but a sword. Skinny and slender and barely.big enough to wrap my hands around. It's now or never, right Percy?
--
{ guess who's crying again! }
{ guess who's crying again! }
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